


The Yinchorri Uprising

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2010-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 76,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A novel-length tale of a rebellion within the Republic.  Alliances are born, friendships are made, and stories are told.  Set two years after Waking Dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While set two years after the events of Waking Dream, The Yinchorri Uprising is meant to be read in series order.
> 
> Also, betas are awesome. Pretty sure it was writestufflee, merryamelie, and mrs_stanley who beat this one into shape.

Qui-Gon Jinn slapped his hands across the board, cutting off the communication feed, and contemplated slamming his forehead down on the console multiple times.  He knew that what he had to report wasn’t going to be taken well, but at least they had two days’ grace before facing the Council.

_How’d it go?_

He smiled and then fought a yawn, the tiredness his younger partner broadcasted adding to his own exhaustion.  The last twenty-six hours had been draining, to say the least.  _We get a reprieve.  The communications array has been damaged.  I can send transmissions, but not receive._  

_Great!   I always did prefer to be yelled at in person._

Qui-Gon turned and walked away from the streaking starlight of hyperspace, flexing his left hand repeatedly.  Obi-Wan had insisted upon healing his broken fingers the moment that the underclass of Tan’al had restored order.  His injuries had been minor; Qui-Gon had been trapped in the company of the diplomats, trying to get them to resolve the conflict before it became a moot point.  _How’s your head?_

 _Not bad.  Hurts less._   Only on the way back to their ship, when the hostilities had ceased, did his former Padawan admit that he’d been suffering near-blinding migraines for the past two days.  The conversation had led to recriminations (on his part), swearing (on Obi-Wan’s part), and had only added to the list of fights they’d had while adjusting to working with each other for the last two years.  Today was the first day they’d blown up at on another in quite some time, though, so perhaps that counted for something.

As if hearing the tone of his thoughts, Obi-Wan grinned as Qui-Gon approached.  “I’m a redhead.  I’m told it’s a natural warning sign of temperament.”

“Really?” he took the seat opposite Obi-Wan Kenobi, still the youngest Jedi Knight in the Order at the age of eighteen.  The young man’s face was mottled with purple and black bruises that started at his temple and ran down to his collarbone.  The Tan guards had not been kind to his partner during his arrest.  “Then what’s my excuse?”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked at him, and Qui-Gon winced in sympathy at the swaths of blood that still marred the sclera.  The Healers were going to have a field day.  “Sorry, you don’t get one,” Obi-Wan said, giving Qui-Gon a lopsided smile.  “Unless your Wookiee-like stature is a signifier of non-human contributions to your genetic background.”

“Being that I have gone through no radical hair-removal procedures…”  He watched his companion blink multiple times.  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “Yes, absolutely, positively.  I’m fine.  I am not suddenly going to drop dead.  Stop asking before I’m forced to find a stick and smack you with it.”

“You and Yoda have an interesting stick fetish going,” he said, smiling.  “I still wish—”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again.  “Am I going to have to reiterate that it was a matter of priority?  I was functioning just fine, as you’ve witnessed over the past day.  Hands, meanwhile, hold lightsabers, and we’ve had need of them of late.”

“No, you don’t need to,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head.  “Sometimes it’s just hard to manage the sense of responsibility I still feel towards you.  Were the circumstances different, you’d still be my Padawan.  The habit does not die easily.”

“Tell me about it,” Obi-Wan murmured, though Qui-Gon suspected he was thinking of someone else—Anakin, perhaps.  Then he shrugged.  “Well, neither one of us are dead yet, and we’re not trying to kill each other, so things are still working well.  Unless you think they’re not?” Obi-Wan ventured, eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“No, no.  Things are…”  Qui-Gon found himself chuckling.  “Obi-Wan, I daresay I would not be having near as much fun if I were to venture off on my own again.”

Obi-Wan snorted.  “Fun.  Right.  You’re not the one the Council is going to be yelling at for starting a war.”

“Wars have begun for less interesting reasons, that’s for certain,” Qui-Gon said blithely, and earned himself an irritated scowl that told him better than any words that everything was just fine between them.

           

*    *    *    *

 

Mace Windu didn’t yell at them, per se, but his disapproval flooded the Force and made itself known.  There was little doubt as to the true nature of his feelings on the matter.  “We sent the two of you to Tan’al to re-negotiate several trade agreements.  We did _not_ send you there to start a revolution!”

 _Told you,_ said Obi-Wan, who was the direct target of Mace’s quiet wrath.

Qui-Gon raised one eyebrow in response but said nothing.  Beside Mace, Yoda was sitting with his eyes mostly closed, listening, but his opinion of the matter of Tan’al was not yet forthcoming.  The only other Council member in attendance was Yarael Poof, who was scowling even more than usual.

Their chances of escaping this Council meeting unscathed were sitting in the fifty-fifty range.

“Now, would one of you like to explain what in the hell you were thinking four days ago?” Mace said, sitting back and glaring at Obi-Wan.

“I didn’t instigate this, Master Windu.  After all, I did not ask for Ran D’nl to kiss me in the public market,” Obi-Wan replied, outwardly unperturbed by the senior Council member’s displeasure.

“Which is how we discovered the laws that Tan’al has in place that prohibit any member of the underclass from having contact with someone of any other class—

something that I will point out has never been mentioned by the Tan representative in the Senate,” Qui-Gon added.

Mace lifted his head in surprise.  “You didn’t indicate anything like that in your message,” he said, giving Qui-Gon a suspicious look.  “Continue, please.”

“It’s not in their original charter with the Republic, either,” Obi-Wan continued, and rubbed the yellowing bruises on his jaw.  “They don’t limit this restriction to their own people, as you can see.  I took quite a beating from the Tan guard before being arrested with Ran D’nl, along with a handful of other members of the underclass who had committed the sole crime of standing nearby.”

“You are a Jedi Knight, and thus could have avoided such a beating,” Yarael pointed out, and through their pair-bond Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan’s desire to roll his eyes in response.  “Or your Master, being present, could easily have intervened.”

“Easily, yes,” Obi-Wan replied.  “But at that point, we needed more information, and the Tan weren’t providing it.”

“The diplomatic liaison for Tan’al was in absolute denial about the situation,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head at the memory.  “They were already in the midst of doctoring the security footage of the market when I politely demanded the return of the Republic’s other ambassador.”

Obi-Wan half-smiled.  “They’re thorough, I’ll give them that.  We didn’t even realize the size of the underclass populace until a few hours later, when all hell broke loose.”

“Since you’re the one who started that—” Mace began, but Obi-Wan cut him off.

“I’ve never been that comfortable with the idea of being gang-raped, so no, that particular jailbreak couldn’t have waited,” Obi-Wan snapped, his voice hard.  “I doubt anyone else locked in that blasted place was fond of the idea, either.  To be fair, it wasn’t quite what Ran D’nl’s people had in mind.  Their goal was only to make sure the Jedi and the Republic learned that there was an entire caste of people who were being denied their rights.  Seeing so many of their brethren freed at once just triggered a flash point.  These people had long ago grown tired of their situation.”

Yarael Poof shook his head, muttering under his breath.  Yoda, meanwhile, opened his eyes, giving them both his full attention as Qui-Gon took up the narrative.  “On my side of things, I was confronting the Tan delegation about Obi-Wan’s arrest and getting nowhere, fast.  As far as they were concerned, Obi-Wan was now a criminal as well as a new member of the underclass.  They considered him…unclean.”   

Qui-Gon paused; that still made him angry, for his partner’s sake as well as for the underclass themselves.  How the Tan had hid this from him and Obi-Wan for the weeks they’d worked through the old trade agreements, he had no idea, but the deceit rankled.  “They were utterly unwilling to recognize the underclass as part of their populace, and thus their accorded rights as Republic citizens.  Not even when the underclass stormed the citadel.” 

That part had been amusing, the only bright spot in the midst of a very trying day.  The Tan delegates had begged him to fight the underclass off, to restore order, and had been less than pleased when he’d refused. 

Qui-Gon had defended them, when the time had come, keeping the Tan underclass from killing anyone.  They hadn’t been appreciative of that, either.

“Ran D’nl didn’t make a spur of the moment decision.  That moment of physical contact had been calculated from the moment they’d learned of the impending Jedi visit to Tan’al.  D’nl knew that no member of the underclass would be able to speak to the Jedi unless they did something drastic.  The underclass of Tan’al have had no rights for over three hundred years, and they were more than ready to die to change that,” Obi-Wan explained.  “Between Qui-Gon, myself, and Ran D’nl, we managed to keep casualties to a minimum.”

“They are maintaining that control, for now, and wish for a duly informed Jedi team, along with representatives from the Senate, to create a new membership agreement with the Republic.  They would, of course, prefer one that recognizes their rights as sentient beings.”  Qui-Gon smiled at Yoda’s approving look.  “I told them that we would be more than happy to return with a Senate representative in a week’s time.  They are also calling for their current Senator, Disa Val, to step down.  She has ignored the plight of the underclass, as well as Republic law, for her entire tenure in the Senate.”

“All right.”  Mace sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “One day I would really like to receive a mission briefing from the two of you that doesn’t result in a headache for me.  It’s not every day that I get to tell the Chancellor that he’s got a rebellion on his hands on one of the Core worlds.”

“You both did well,” Yarael Poof granted at last, inclining his head.  “You know that I disagree with your methods, but even I will admit that it is good that the entire populace of Tan’al will regain their rights.”

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon glanced at each other before they both bowed to the elder Council member.  Winning over Master Poof had been difficult after Obi-Wan’s Knighting, but the Quermian was no fool.  Just stubborn.

“In the meantime, go down to the Healers’ Ward and get checked out.  I’d also like it if the two of you could come back from a mission without looking like you fought off a herd of Rancors,” Mace said, giving Obi-Wan a sympathetic look.  Qui-Gon had his own bruises, but they were not nearly as spectacular as his partner’s.  “Get out of here.  I’ll let you know the moment we have any new developments on the Tan.  May the Force be with you.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan endured a fierce grilling from Jale Terza and half of the Healing Masters on staff when he went to them with still-visible bruises on his face.  He answered their questions and wound up submitting to a full-body scan to make sure that nothing else was damaged.  He acquiesced without complaint.  The faster they ran the gamut of questions, the faster he could go home and go to _bed_.

He bided his time, listening to the faint stream of consciousness that came to him through the pairbond he had with Qui-Gon.  The latter was busy swearing at a junior Healer that he was _not_ going to be putting a cast on an already-healed hand, thank you very much.  Obi-Wan smiled; their bond was developing by leaps and bounds, helped by the pre-existing path of the old training bond. 

There was one other connection there as well, and he was thankful that Qui-Gon hadn’t noticed it.  He wasn’t sure if he was ready to explain to his partner about anchor points.  Or about having been dead, for that matter. 

When they were done, Terza grinned and thrust a tiny wrapped box into his hands before chasing him out of the Ward.  Abella met him at the door, eyed the gift in his hands, and handed him another wrapped box.

“Couldn’t you just have left them in my quarters?” he asked, uncomfortable with the sudden surge in gift-giving.  His eighteenth birthday had been weeks ago, even if they’d been away from Coruscant on that particular day.  As it was, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he wanted to celebrate it, being that it was his eighteenth birthday for the second damned time.

Abella grinned, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek before taking his arm and escorting him to the turbolifts.  “Well, with those security protocols you tossed onto your door, none of us can access your quarters anymore without the computer yelling at us to bugger off,” she said. 

Obi-Wan sighed, because that meant another round of updates to the software.  He’d be lucky if the damned program let _him_ in.  “Besides, the eighteenth birthday’s the important one for you humans.  Enjoy it.  I know for a fact that Garen got you brandy.”  She gave him a gentle shove into the open lift, ignoring his immediate demand to be told if it was Corellian, and waved at him with a cheerful smile on her face as the lift doors slid closed.

 

*    *    *    *

           

Garen Muln’s gift had indeed been brandy.  Not the cherished Corellian Obi-Wan was besotted with, but it was a good year from Alderaan, and easier to procure when you were stuck on Coruscant.  Garen dropped it off the next morning with a cheerful grin, taking a moment to lift Obi-Wan in a bear-hug off of the floor.  Obi-Wan gasped out a laugh as his friend wished him a merry, wonderful, sextastic birthday.

“Thanks, though I do recall managing to give you the same wish six months ago without the sextastic part,” Obi-Wan said, once he had his wind back.

“Yeah, well, you keep puttin’ me off about that one,” Garen drawled, giving Obi-Wan a half-hearted leer.  Then he deflated, looking down at Obi-Wan with soulful hazel eyes.  “You could just go ahead and tell me no.  It would be easier on me.”

Obi-Wan sighed, reaching up to grip Garen’s shoulder.  “That’s because I’m not certain that ‘no’ is the answer.  Remember, this is my problem, not yours.  It’s just that—”

The door chime sounded, and both Garen and Obi-Wan swore.  “See, every time you’re about to explain the holdup, crap like that happens,” Garen said, rolling his eyes.  “Come on in, Master Jinn!” he yelled, raising his voice.  “We know it’s got to be you— everyone else just barges in!”

“Garen,” Obi-Wan warned, trying not to laugh as the door slid open to reveal Qui-Gon, his expression mock-stern.

“Padawan Muln, I do believe you’re late for your ethics class,” Qui-Gon announced, palming the button that kept the door open.  “You might want to run—Master Denaroth considers tardiness a minor ethics violation.”

“Oh, good.  Nice to know I’m already screwed,” Garen said with far too much cheer.  Obi-Wan considered elbowing him, then decided that it would just reveal more than he was comfortable with.  “Good day, Master Jinn.”

“Good luck, Padawan Muln,” Qui-Gon replied, letting the door slide closed once Garen had made his escape.  “Good morning, Obi-Wan.”  He paused and stared at the new item of furniture that was parked in front of the couch.  “Sleep well?”

“Sort of,” Obi-Wan said, heading back into the kitchen with Garen’s gift.  Qui-Gon followed, probably to escape the sight of the table.  “I slept wonderfully until Anakin woke me at dawn in a panic because he’d taken apart his lightsaber, and couldn’t remember how to put it back together.”

“Again?” Qui-Gon shook his head.  “I hate to see him go through this.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his heart still aching at the memory of the misery on Anakin’s face, stressed as he was to find he couldn’t complete what he knew was a simple task.  “The memories come and go for him.  I just don’t push at anything, and hope for the best.” 

All Obi-Wan could do was reassure Anakin that it was fine, help the boy fix his lightsaber, and send him back to the creche for morning practice.  It didn’t feel like it was enough, but what else could he do?  Obi-Wan knew in his heart that now was not the time to take Anakin as his Padawan, even if they were meant to walk that path again.  If there was another option, he hadn’t thought of it yet.  “And what about you?  Anything interrupt your sleep?”

“I was up half the night with Tahl, discussing the One Five Eight treatise of Veranii,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “The published version is dry as dust, but she found a copy covered in notes that revealed that at least three of the diplomats were using sex to get the thing written.”

Obi-Wan grinned.  “That would have been much more interesting than the final product.  With material like that, are you sure talking was all that you did?”  He tried to tell himself that he was teasing, and _not_ fishing for information…but he was just selfish enough to want to know.  Damn it.

“Gods, why does everyone keep asking us that?” Qui-Gon responded, a touch of frustration in his voice.  “What are we doing that keeps up those rumors?”

“Well, for starters, you stay up half the night talking about sex.”  Obi-Wan just smiled as Qui-Gon glowered at him. 

 “You’re probably right,” Qui-Gon admitted, giving in.  He leaned against the counter, watching as Obi-Wan shoved the bottle into the cold store.  “Obi-Wan, what is that pink monstrosity that is now taking up residence in your living room?”

“Oh.  That.”  Obi-Wan shuddered.  “That is Bant’s birthday present to me.”

“I gathered that, since it wasn’t here the last time I was.  But Obi-Wan—what _is_ it?” Qui-Gon wanted to know, his blue eyes bright with humor.

“I think it’s a table.  It’s made from pink coral.  It is hideous, isn’t it?

“I think that calling that thing hideous is a compliment.”

Obi-Wan nodded, pouring hot water into two mugs and handing one to Qui-Gon out of longstanding habit.  Qui-Gon began raiding the tea collection, probably looking to find where Obi-Wan had hidden the red.  To be fair, he stole from Qui-Gon’s tea stash just as often.  “She left a note with it.  Said that if I was going to be so remiss in buying furniture to brighten up this place, she was going to do it herself.  She also said there was a matching chair, and if I didn’t acquire one on my own by next year, she was going to purchase it.”

Qui-Gon shuddered.  “Then by all means, Obi-Wan, find a damned chair, or your quarters will look like the inside of a Sarlacc.”

Obi-Wan paused in the midst of taking a sip of tea.  “That’s a disturbing thought.”

Qui-Gon put his mug down, letting a sachet of dark red steep.  “My present isn’t going to earn you near as many colorful remarks,” Qui-Gon said, drawing a wrapped package from his robe.  “Happy Birthday, Obi-Wan.”

“Tell me it’s not another rock,” Obi-Wan said, taking the wrapped box from Qui-Gon’s hands and shaking it.  “At the rate I’m going, I’ll have assembled a collection that would have geologists drooling.”

Qui-Gon laughed.  “No, I promise, not this time.  You only reach the legal age of majority once—well, usually just the once,” he amended, when Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.  “Regardless, it should be something noteworthy.”

When Obi-Wan opened the package, parts of his control frayed at the edges.  He touched the dark leather with trembling hands, stunned into silence.  He picked up the journal, thumbing once through blank white pages before burying his nose in the book and inhaling the heady scent of fresh paper and rich leather.

“Please don’t eat it.  It was a bit too expensive to become an appetizer.”

He stuttered a laugh, lifting his face away from the pages and facing Qui-Gon with a broad grin.  “I love it.  It just—it triggered some interesting memories.  I used to have several that looked like this.”  He flipped the journal closed, running his fingers along the leather again.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Qui-Gon replied, resting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  His pulse rate doubled (damnable hormones) but he managed a grateful smile that didn’t show a hint of the things he hid away. 

 

*    *    *    *

 

Tahl knew that someone was at her door before the chime sounded, and smiled when she recognized the muted yet colorful presence standing outside her doorway.  She stepped from her kitchen through the living room without a single misstep, despite the shifting clutter of her Padawan. 

She opened the door, catching scents of clean skin and tea, followed by a tang of agitation.  Ah.  It was going to be one of those visits. 

“I didn’t expect that you would be dropping by today.  Hello, Obi-Wan.”

“Good afternoon, Master Tahl.  May I come in?”

“Stop calling me Master Tahl and I’ll consider it,” she drawled.  She was one of the few, she knew, who recognized that Obi-Wan Kenobi had to have been a Master of the Order in his other life, and she hated it when other Masters stood on formality around her.  Obi-Wan had picked up on that, the lout.  He didn’t want to be recognized as a Master, and she didn’t want precise formality in her life.  Thus, they were at an impasse.

“I’m fond of being courteous, you know that,” he countered, and she could hear the smile in his words.

Tahl sighed and relented.  “Insufferable brat.  Come in, then.  Tea?” she asked, heading for the kitchen as she heard the creaky spring give way on one of her chairs. Micah wanted to get it fixed, the silly idiot.  Sometimes she needed her tells.

“Of course.  I didn't gift you with the red tea for nothing, you know,” Obi-Wan said, and Tahl smiled as she found the third cabinet, bringing down the makings for tea and setting them on the counter with quiet sounds that also told her how much space she had to work with.  When she’d first been blinded, Tahl hadn’t believed the reports she’d listened to that mentioned many humans without sight developed a unique sense of echo location.  Now she was using it almost without thought.  It made sparring interesting.

“Scamp.  I thought it a little odd that you'd hand over something I knew you loved.” 

“Well, it was sort a bribe so you wouldn't tell the quartermaster what really happened to your droid.”  His tone was amused, but Tahl could hear that underlying agitation in his voice now, and it pinged her curiosity. 

“Believe me, Obi-Wan, I have no intention of telling them about DJ’s unfortunate loss,” Tahl said, turning on the kitchen tap long enough to fill her teakettle, turning off the water when the weight felt right and the pitch of the water changed.  “I still find it a relief to know that my belongings are where I've left them, and not where his dubious programming thought they should be placed.”

The heating element had water boiling in no time, and she poured steaming water over sachets of dried tea, breathing deeply as the familiar, spicy scent rose into the air.  She brought two cups from the kitchen, handing one to Obi-Wan for him to take before sitting down with her own. 

“Where's Bant?” he asked, then uttered an appreciative sigh as he drank.

“She’s with Knight Fisto.  We can do a lot together, but Bant needs some fieldwork that isn't research-centric, and he's been kind enough to help us both in that regard.”  She hesitated, then decided to go for it.  “Out with it, you.  I know something's bothering you.”

“Something is _always_ bothering me, at least according to Qui-Gon.”

Tahl nodded.  “He worries about you, Obi-Wan.  It's a Master's prerogative, long after it's no longer our job to worry.”

 He laughed.  “I know.  Believe me, I do.  But...well, this is one subject matter that I'm _really_ not in the mood to share with him.”

“Ah!  It's about sex!  Tell me more!”  She grinned when he laughed.  “Yes, I know.  I sound like Padawan Muln, but I've always loved this particular line of gossip.”

“Funny you should mention Garen,” Obi-Wan said, and he released that pensive sigh that was becoming so familiar.

She could put two and two together with the best of them—or in this case, one and one.  “He’s interested in you?” she asked, puzzled.  “The last I had heard from my equally gossipy Padawan, Garen only had eyes for Padawan Reeft.”

“That’s still true,” Obi-Wan replied, “but you didn’t hear it from me.  Reeft is oblivious, so Garen is eyeballing him from a distance.  I don’t think he wants to push things.  No, he—I—” She heard him pass a hand through his hair.  “This is awkward.”

“He’s asking you to be his first,” Tahl guessed, and that agitation she sensed jumped before settling again.  “I thought, from the way Bant discussed how your eyes wander, that sleeping with another male wouldn’t be a problem.”

He managed a wry snort.  “No, that’s not in question.  It’s just that—I’ve already done this.  Er…that.  With him.”

It took her a full minute to process what he meant, and Tahl was quite willing to lay the blame on sleepless nights instead of cluelessness.  “Gods.  That must be…”  She paused.  “You know what?  No.  I have no _idea_ how confusing that must be for you.”

“What adds to the difficulty, Tahl, is that I’ve never told him what my Trials actually were.  None of my agemates know, though I think Bant has guessed more than she will admit to.”

She nodded; Bant had indeed guessed some of it, and it was only out of Tahl’s respect for Obi-Wan’s privacy that she hadn’t confirmed her Padawan’s eerily accurate assumptions.  “So, tell him.”

“Just like that, huh?” Obi-Wan didn’t sound convinced.  “I worry that he’ll ask me something that I just can’t answer.”

“No one says that you have to tell him _everything_ ,” Tahl pointed out.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, and she heard a sound that was either his hand or the back of his head hitting the chair.

Tahl grinned, and if Qui-Gon or Micah had seen the expression they would have been trying to silence her.  “Was it any good?”

“You are shameless,” he muttered.  “And I’m not telling you that.  As it is, I feel like I’d be taking advantage of the situation.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Tahl said.  “Even if Garen does seem to want to be taken advantage of,” she added.

Obi-Wan chuckled.  “There is that.”

“What do _you_ want to do, Obi-Wan?”

He released a frustrated breath of air.  “I just want to get laid.”

Tahl laughed in startled surprise and almost choked on her tea.

 

*    *    *    *

 

 _The fires were intense; it was only due to the mine’s grav fields and shielding that they both hadn’t caught fire long ago.  As it was, his skin was burning, his breath rasping in his lungs, and his eyes were watering.  He was not crying.  There was no reason for tears.  He was_ not _crying._

_The thing on the ground spat at him, howling, and something inside of him broke, gave vent to the agony he felt._

_“You were the Chosen One!” he screamed hoarsely.  “It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them. Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!”_

_The thing on the ground with Anakin’s face and fiery, insane eyes screamed back at him.  “I hate you!”_

_His heart froze, but he could not stop now.  “You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!”_

_And with no hesitation, he walked away._

Obi-Wan awoke with a gasp, and realized in the next moment that it was dark and cool, not the furnace of Mustafar.  He groaned and fell back in bed, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.  “Fuck.”  _That was not the rest I was looking for._  

He dressed in the dark, grabbed his lightsaber from the nightstand, and left the dubious comfort of his quarters for a training salle that was deserted.  He had two hours until dawn, when he’d have to turn the room over to others, but for now he had the run of the place.  He left his cloak draped over a bench and ran two circuits around the room, forcing his muscles to wake up. 

When that was done, Obi-Wan started pacing himself through the old Mandalorian combat sets, swearing under his breath every time he missed a step.  He never worked with these much.  The Mandalore were dirty fighters, and they trained to hurt an enemy as much as possible in the shortest amount of time.  Some moves in the arsenal he knew well and had used, but he saved them for a last resort—never the first.

By the time he’d worked through all of the ones he remembered, his clothing was drenched and his eyes were burning.  Today was the anniversary of his last visit to Mustafar.  His entire life was full of anniversaries that marked terrible things, and even sleep was no escape from the remembrance of them.  Alcohol was better for drowning things, but he was trying to be good, trying _not_ to fall back into that habit borne of solitude.

Instead, Obi-Wan dropped further into the Force and started teaching himself how to mix the Mando’ade bag of dirty tricks into the _ataru._   The result would either be spectacular or ridiculous, and right now he didn’t care which it was.  Movement and focus meant he wasn’t thinking about things best left buried.

He was at the height of an aerial when the Force whispered a warning, and not two seconds later his comm signaled him.  He cut the move short and came down to rest with his fist just above the training mat, in the perfect position to slam into a body that wasn’t there. 

He shut down his lightsaber before answering the comm.  “Kenobi.”

“Don’t you ever fucking sleep?”

Obi-Wan grinned at the grogginess in his caller’s voice.  “No, Garen.  You must not be sleeping either, judging from the fact that you’re calling me far earlier in the day than usual.”

“Master’s orders,” Garen replied with a stifled yawn.  “Council chamber, as soon as possible.  I’ll meet you there.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, straightening.  Alarm bells were starting to go off in his head, along with a sense of foreboding from the Force.

“I don’t know,” Garen grumbled back.  “All I know is that there have been no less than four Council members in our quarters so far this morning, and all of them are wigging out.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Qui-Gon had been awake for less than two minutes before his comm started demanding his attention.  He grabbed it and thumbed it on, already knowing that it was important.  “Qui-Gon, I need you in the Council chamber in five minutes,” Mace ordered, terminating the call before Qui-Gon could so much as open his mouth to speak.

He felt a flash of irritation but let it go; when Mace Windu thought something was important, he wasted no time with pleasantries or explanations.  If Qui-Gon wanted an explanation, he’d have to go and get one.

A quick touch on the pairbond told him that Obi-Wan was already awake.  He caught a hint of agitation and apprehension but little else, and after a moment he lost track of that, too.  Qui-Gon knew his side of the pairbond wasn’t nearly as developed as Obi-Wan’s, but that would come with time. 

He had a feeling, though, that their time might be running out.

He made it to the Council chamber in less than five minutes, foregoing his tunics in favor of a dark blue shirt that was mostly hidden by his robe.  Obi-Wan had arrived first, wrapped in his own robe, but his face was flushed and his chin-length hair was soaked in sweat.  It hadn’t been a comm that had awoken him.  Likely, Obi-Wan had already been awake for hours, spending his time in one of the training salles.  Qui-Gon felt a moment’s sympathy when he noticed the pensive cast to Obi-Wan’s features.  Dreams again. 

Noticing his interest, Obi-Wan looked up and met Qui-Gon’s eyes, then lifted one shoulder in an abbreviated shrug.  Translation:  _I have no idea what’s going on._

The rest of the Council, minus Even Piell, was assembled but not seated.  Garen Muln was standing near the open doors, tracking everyone with quiet, watchful eyes.  Being the Padawan of a Council member meant that he was long used to this sort of thing, but his frame was still thrumming with tension.  Whatever was happening, he knew more than Qui-Gon did.  Siri Tachi should have been with him, but Adi Gallia’s Padawan had made a rare visit to her homeworld for the wedding of a sibling, and it was unlikely that Adi would call her home.

Soon they were joined by Knight Lilit Twoseas and her Padawan, K’Kruhk. Master Tsui Choi followed them with his Padawan, Theen Fida.  Master Dama Ro was the last to arrive, his cloak bundled in his arms.  At that, Mace signaled for the great doors to be shut.

“Good morning,” he said, as the Council members settled into their chairs.  Their normal serenity was not present, and as Mace kept speaking, Qui-Gon quickly discovered why.  “A few hours ago, we learned that the Golden Nyss Shipyards were attacked and destroyed.  A droid that survived the assault reported that Yinchorri vessels were responsible.  All ships within the yards were either taken by the Yinchorri or obliterated.”

There was a sudden flurry of shocked whispering among those gathered.  Qui-Gon glanced at Micah, who was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair and scowling.  “To my knowledge, the Yinchorri are warlike, but they had no plans on violating their treaty with the Republic,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Do we know what happened?” Dama Ro asked, looking around at the assembled Council with ill-concealed anger. 

“Aside from that event, we know very little,” Micah answered him.  “We had no intelligence from the sector that any Yinchorri group were arming themselves.  Even now, there is no word from the system beyond wisps of rumor.”

“The Yinchorri representative in the Senate, Gexall, claims to have no knowledge of this attack and seemed to be just as surprised as we were,” Adi said, her eyes glittering with anger.  “For now, we believe her.”

“We’ve tried contacting the Council of Elders, but have received no response,” Saesee Tiin spoke.  “The rumors from the sector imply, however, that this is a rogue fleet of Yinchorri pirates, so it may be that they are not involved.”

“Or it may be that they are offering assistance, if this rogue faction has acquired the kind of weaponry the Yinchorri crave,” Plo Koon continued.  “Either way, our path is clear.”

“Everyone in this room has been chosen to accompany members of the Council to Yinchorri space.  Starting at the remains of the Golden Nyss, we will seek out these pirates and deal with them,” Mace said, his voice hard.  “The Judicial Forces will be providing transport as well as extra manpower, should it be necessary.  In the meantime, we have dispatched Jedi Knight Naesh’ahn and her Padawan, Ebor Taulk, to Yinchorr.  They are tasked with locating the Council of Elders and convincing them to call for these pirates to stand down.  If the Council of Elders is involved, they are to gather evidence of their duplicity.”

“Clouded, the Force is.  A hidden enemy, we have,” Yoda intoned, his eyes dark.  “Cautious, we must be.”

“We’ll be departing tomorrow morning from the main hangar,” Mace said, giving them all a curt nod.  “Be ready.  May the Force be with you.”

They filed out of the room, breaking off into pairs except for Dama Ro, who disappeared into the nearest lift without a word.  Qui-Gon walked along the promenade that led to the outer balcony.  “You haven’t said a word.”

Beside him, Obi-Wan stared ahead, frowning.  “Mmm.”

“That doesn’t count as a word.”

Obi-Wan glanced up at him, a ghost of a smile on his face.  “Mmm-hmm.”

“Still not words,” Qui-Gon said, and despite his worry at the sudden, imminent threat just dumped on their heads, he found himself smiling back.  “Care to grace me with your thoughts?”

“I suppose we’re not going to be returning to Tan’al,” Obi-Wan said, stopping and placing his hands on the balcony rail.

“I suppose not.  It’s too bad.  Ran D’nl will miss you.”  He grinned when Obi-Wan offered him a glare.  “Even I noticed that he was…ornamental, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.  “I’m afraid my tastes run a bit older.  He’s only fifteen Standard, Qui-Gon Jinn.  You are officially a dirty old man.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened.  “Force, he certainly hides it well.”  He shook his head.  “I could have lived my entire life without knowing that and been happy.  However, enough about my perversions.  Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Obi-Wan lifted his face into the breeze that stirred, closing his eyes for a moment.  When he opened them again, they were the color of storm clouds instead of the usual blue-green.  “I know the names.  Naesh’ahn.  Taulk.   I have never met them, but I remember their names.  I just don’t know _why_ ,” he said, frustrated.

Qui-Gon considered Obi-Wan’s words.  His partner had walked this path before, and if the names were troubling him, it was bound to be important.  “If they were involved in this particular event before, perhaps it’s just a mental association,” Qui-Gon suggested, but even as he said the words he knew there was more to it than that.

“Maybe.”  Obi-Wan bit his lip, staring out at the early morning cityscape of Coruscant.  He barely looked his age, and was often mistaken for a much younger man.  His features still held the roundness of childhood, though it wouldn’t be long before time chiseled it all away, leaving behind a man who would one day look like the fire-haired, bearded man Qui-Gon had once encountered in an unexplainable memory.  He just had to keep reminding himself of that. 

“It’s…damn.  It was forty-two years ago, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said at last.  “I wish I could say that my memories of that time are clear, but they’re not.”

“Meditation?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “Meditation.” 

They stood together for another few minutes, watching the upper levels of Coruscant awaken for the day.  Forty-two years.  Qui-Gon shook his head in disbelief.  “You’re sixty years old.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re two years older than I am,” Qui-Gon said, trying not to sound miffed.  He had not sought out Obi-Wan’s actual age after the young man’s Knighting, considering it unimportant.  Having a concrete number was making his head spin.

“Weird, isn’t it?”  Obi-Wan gave him a cheeky grin before pulling his hood up and walking away.

“There’s no way you made it to that age without being named a Master by the Council!” Qui-Gon called after him.

Obi-Wan just waved without turning around.  “I’ll see you later, Master!”

Qui-Gon found himself grinning.  Impudent, sneaky bastard.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan returned to his quarters and considered pacing for a full minute before he decided that it wouldn’t accomplish anything.  He dumped his robe over a chair, exchanging sweat-stiff clothes for a hot shower and clean tunics.  By the time he knelt down in front of a window for meditation, he felt less stir-crazy and more like the Force was nudging him in a certain direction. 

Before long he had tranced down, settling into the currents of the Force as if he had never left.  Some part of him was always here, always aware, but it was the background whisper of countless voices.  Now he immersed all of himself in the Force, allowing it to take him wherever he needed to go. 

It was a relatively simple matter to seek out old memories and make them clearer, even though Obi-Wan usually did not like what he found.  The first time he’d lived through his eighteenth year, it had started with funerals.

Started with funerals.  He frowned even as he went deeper.  Time.  Something was wrong with the timing of this.  He temporarily dismissed the notion of Naesh’ahn and her Padawan, found memories of his younger self’s life in the days before the attack on the Golden Nyss.  He’d remembered what happened to the shipyards the moment Mace had mentioned it.  Funny, though, how the prevalent memory he had of that time was the dust of Yinchorr—and the means by which Lilit Twoseas, Theen Fida, and Micah Giett had died.  Twoseas’ and Fida’s pyres had been held on Yinchorr, for they didn’t have access to stasis containers, and there was no getting out of the Yinchorri system before rot set in.  Micah’s pyre had been…unnecessary.

Then they’d returned to the Temple, weary and sore, to discover that four more pyres were waiting to burn.  Obi-Wan sighed; another lost memory.  He was going to have to warn Yoda.  If he was thinking of interfering with the events of the Yinchorri Uprising, might as well go all out and defend against the Temple incursion, too.

The Yinchorri attack on the Golden Nyss shipyards, in his memories, had happened three months ago, and nothing Obi-Wan had done since the age of sixteen should have altered those events.  Something was wrong.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again sometime later, he knew why memories of Naesh’ahn and Taulk had refused to surface.  He also knew that there was a new element to the Yinchorri Uprising.  He just had to find it.  He didn’t have much time, either—Yinchorr was only ten hours out from Coruscant.

 

*    *    *    *

 

When he cleared the lift in the tower that afternoon, the Council secretary stood up as he strode past.  “Knight Kenobi, the Council is in session.  Whatever it is that you want, it’s going to have to wait,” Esna said.  “Er—well…” the senior Padawan trailed off when Obi-Wan turned and gave her what Anakin had once called the ‘I’m the Jedi Master here, Padawan’ look.  “Well.  Uhm.  Let me just see if they have a moment for you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and waved his hand, triggering the doors.  “Sorry, can’t wait,” he said, walking through the moment there was clearance.  Yoda lifted his head as Obi-Wan entered, giving him a curious look that was touched with disgruntlement.  Other Council members voiced their displeasure with his breach of protocol without words, and disapproval swirled around him.  He shook it off, unimpressed.  Mace chose only to glare at him.  Micah, meanwhile, looked like he was ready to twitch himself out of his chair.  The Combat Master hated being stuck in a Council session when a mission was looming.

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted them, giving those assembled a half-bow once he reached the center of the room.  “My apologies for my hasty entrance, but I believe time is of the essence.”

“Very well, Knight Kenobi,” Depa Billaba said, inclining her head.  “You may speak.”

“You must recall Knight Naesh’ahn and Padawan Taulk.”

His statement was met with another burst of displeasure, which he ignored.  Mace and Yoda exchanged glances before Mace turned back to Obi-Wan.  “And your reason for this rash request is?”

“Because I don’t wish to see them on a pyre come morning,” Obi-Wan retorted.  “I also doubt that Chancellor Valorum wants to begin his day by having two bodies delivered to his office by courier.”

“Blasted Sith hells,” Micah said, sitting up in his chair.  “Are you sure?”

“More from your vision, Knight Kenobi?” Yarael Poof asked, his head swaying back and forth.  “Surely that is no longer relevant.”

Obi-Wan felt an intense flare of irritation.  Master Poof seemed to be dead certain that Obi-Wan’s Knighting meant that no other element of his experience would occur. 

 _Hopefully, this will make him realize otherwise._   “I know it is my policy not to share events with you that may not come to pass, but this one is happening, right now.  What concerned me is that I have memories that say this should have happened three months ago.” 

Obi-Wan pulled a holographic emitter from his belt.  “I would have been here sooner, for Knight Naesh’ahn and Padawan Taulk’s sake, but I was worried about the difference.  I found this.”  He activated the emitter, and the piece of the puzzle he’d spent hours searching the public databases for appeared.

 

_Delay.  Acting now will ensure failure._

_Sway more to your cause.  Act when your military strength is greatest._

_The sector will be yours._

 

“The timestamp is dated three months previous, and was sent to Yinchorr from a public terminal on Coruscant.  I even went to the trouble of trying to identify the sender, but the security camera for that particular terminal was non-functional for most of the afternoon before anyone discovered the problem.  There was no I.D. attached to the message.  It was sent to a public terminal on Yinchorr, but it was bounced, and I can’t track its final recipient from here.”

Mace stared at the words floating in midair, his jaw clenched, and then he turned to Adi.  “Recall them.  Get them out of there.”

Adi nodded and opened up the console imbedded in the arm of her chair, already working on sending the recall signal to Naesh’ahn’s transport.  Obi-Wan shut down the emitter, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief.  One problem down, one to go.

“In the meantime, we still have no idea of what’s going on in that system,” Plo Koon said.  “If they really have amassed an army, we’re not going to know the size of it until it’s attacking us.”

“I have a solution for you.”  When no one spoke, Obi-Wan continued.  “Send me to Yinchorr, instead.”

Saesee Tiin gave him a disbelieving look.  “You have us recall an experienced Knight and her Padawan, but ask us to send you?  You’re either foolish, or you have a death wish.”

“Neither, Master Tiin.”

Mace held up one hand, halting Saesee’s reply.  He stared at Obi-Wan, eyes flashing with annoyance.  “Before I tell you how out of your mind you are to even suggest such a thing, I’d like to hear your reasons,” he said. 

“For starters, I wouldn’t be going in as a public Jedi presence.  They’re going to be on the lookout for us, so it would be unwise to announce my identity.  I can slip into Tol Kashorn, and speak to the smugglers there.  If anyone has the latest intel about Yinchorri activities, they will.  From there, I can seek out and confirm the locations of any Yinchorri battalions or ships and pass them along to you.” 

At Mace’s faint, disbelieving look, Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.  “I can speak Huttese and two of the minor trade languages.  I’ve run contraband cargo and at least will know what I’m talking about if I need to play a role.  I’m also the least recognizable Jedi out of the Yinchorri group.  If I’m there alone in the guise of a new smuggler, the Yinchorri will likely not give a damn about my presence.  It’s far better than going in blind.”

“This is a big risk you’d be taking,” Micah said, leaning forward.  “What’s so important?”

Obi-Wan hesitated before answering.  “Master Giett:  The last time I went to the Yinchorri system, we had current intelligence and a good idea of what the Yinchorri were up to.  Seven Jedi still lost their lives.”

Micah sat back in surprise.  Yoda lowered his ears but said nothing, and Obi-Wan felt the whispers of communication begin.  Adi and Plo Koon, he knew, were appalled by the very notion of his departure.  Depa and Mace, he sensed, were in the midst of an argument.  Micah seemed inclined to agree.  Yoda he couldn’t read at all, and the troll kept giving him inscrutable glances. 

 _Stop that_ , he sent.

 _Worried about you, I am,_ Yoda replied, the words whispered through the training bond that should not even have existed between them, formed as it was in another life.  _A heavy burden, this is.  Sure, are you, that the right thing, this is?_

 _As much as I would like to say otherwise…yes, I’m sure._  He smiled faintly.  _I see little other choice.  We need information._

 _Hmm.  True, this is._   Yoda sighed.  _Deliberations, finished they are.  More you will need to sway them, Obi-Wan._

Mace turned his attention back to Obi-Wan, shaking his head.  “I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi.  We have to say no.  While the intel you could gather would be invaluable, the situation is just too dangerous to send in someone who has, to us, limited experience working solo.  If we’re not going to risk Knight Naesh’ahn and her Padawan, we’re not risking you, either.”

He managed not to grind his teeth.  He should have expected this to occur sooner or later, but the timing was fucking awful _._   They didn’t have time for this, and he did not want to play Council games.  Obi-Wan lifted his chin, staring back at Mace.  “You consider it merely a question of experience?”

Mace frowned, and after glancing at Depa and Saesee, nodded.  “We do.”

Obi-Wan felt long-familiar bitterness well up as he walked over to Even Piell’s empty chair.  He touched the panel, triggering the sensor that activated the computer.  His personal code would not exist, of course, but there were others.  Once, long ago, Mace had drilled him, made sure he could enter the codes in his sleep if need be.  In his other life, he’d used them while surrounded by corpses. 

Now, he entered them without looking at the console, activating the holographic emitter in the center of the room so that the others could watch. 

_[Temple base codes accepted.  Access to all systems is now available. Welcome, Councilor.]_

“Son of a bitch,” Micah whispered. 

Obi-Wan looked at Mace, who was visibly stunned.  “Is that enough experience for you, Master Windu?”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Qui-Gon had barely raised his hand to hit the door chime before he was noticed. 

_Just bloody well come in already._

The argument waiting on his lips died; Obi-Wan could sound far more agreeable in battle than he did in that moment.  The door slid open at his touch, and he stepped inside to subdued lighting.  The atrocious table had been shoved up against the wall, far less pink when cloaked by shadow.

He found Obi-Wan standing in the open doorway of his small balcony.  The space was a far cry from the one Qui-Gon enjoyed, but the view was, in many respects, better.  His partner was standing with his arms crossed as he glowered out at Coruscant’s night traffic. 

“Say it and get it over with, or have a drink and listen,” was Obi-Wan’s next statement.  Qui-Gon noticed the table was playing host to the bottle of brandy that Obi-Wan had acquired yesterday from Padawan Muln. 

Qui-Gon debated those options and then realized that, whatever was going on, Obi-Wan was not in the frame of mind he’d expected.  This was not a senior Padawan going on his first solo mission, full of contained excitement.  This was an angry Jedi Knight, and discovering the source of that anger was far more intriguing than giving vent to a rant that would ultimately have no point.

He found a glass in the kitchen and returned to pour a small measure, noting with a moment’s concern that the bottle was already half-empty.  “This is not one of my favorites,” he said.

“Alderaanian wine is a bit out of my budget range right now,” Obi-Wan said, surprising Qui-Gon.  Obi-Wan glanced up at him and smiled, but he seemed distant.  He glanced back out at the night lights.  “On a night rather like this one, perhaps a week ago in my memories, you let your secret slip.  Of course, instead of the wine, you were consuming that gods-befouled Malastare slop that Master Giett prefers.”

Qui-Gon paused before he could sample the brandy.  “There is only one reason I would subject myself to that vile excuse for alcohol.”

“I know.”

A preference or not, suddenly Qui-Gon was glad for the liquor in his hand.  He drained the glass in one shot, not even registering the burn.  “Micah.  Mace had said that you mentioned the timing of this was off.”  Obi-Wan nodded again.

Qui-Gon’s view of the world tilted as he tried to comprehend it.  He’d recognized that the Force was speaking to him of Micah’s fate for two years, though the whispers had come and gone, never materializing into certainty.  _I do not want to keep watch over my best friend’s pyre,_ he thought.  Nor was he inclined to welcome the necessity of a bottle of Malastare ale.

And then:   _I do not want to see_ Tahl _stand watch over Micah Giett’s pyre._

“Force,” Qui-Gon whispered.  Following the strands of the future was not his strength, but he followed them now, and frowned as he encountered a massive tangle that consumed the paths before them.

Beside him, Obi-Wan raised his glass to his lips.  “That’s what I noticed, too.”  The young man could read the eddies of the Force as easily as most beings breathed.  “Right now things seem to be in a state of flux.”  He paused, and that frustration returned.  “It happened after I approached the Council this afternoon.  Yoda thinks it’s funny.  I do not.”

“Is that why you’re angry?” Qui-Gon asked, shoving his worry for Micah aside.  For now, there was no way of knowing if Micah was destined to die on Yinchorr.  He didn’t trust phantom threads of the future—he trusted the paths he could actually see.

“No.  It’s a good sign, and at least it’s not a paradox,” he said.  “I don’t know how to fix those.”  

Qui-Gon smiled but remained silent, and at last Obi-Wan sighed.  “I have sometimes been frustrated by the fact that my experiences and rank are not a part of the Temple’s memory.  I know what I am capable of—you’ve seen some of it.  I have not for one moment regretted being your partner, Qui-Gon, but it has cost me in terms of visibility.  Our successes are still, for the most part, viewed as _your_ successes.  Granted, I am not out there risking my life for recognition.  I don’t want to be famous.  Famous people get shot at more often.”

Qui-Gon found himself laughing at the unexpected comment.  “We do indeed.”

“But that lack of recognition has never made me angry until today.”  Obi-Wan sat his glass down on the balcony ledge.  “I went to them with a valid proposition that was dismissed because of that perceived lack of experience.  I’m sure even you recognize the benefits of the plan, even if you don’t like it.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head.  “No, I don’t like it.  I have your word that you have worked solo before, but for me, I have never seen it.  You’re right; the problem lies with the perceived lack of experience.”  He stepped back into the living room long enough to retrieve the bottle, adding more of the brandy to his glass.  Obi-Wan picked up his glass and held it out as well, not motioning for the pouring to stop until it reached the rim.  Qui-Gon eyed the very large amount of liquor but said nothing; he’d learned last year that Obi-Wan could drink like an oxygen-starved fish. 

“I just can’t help but remember that every time we are separated on a mission, you’re the one that gets shot at the most, despite my notoriety,” Qui-Gon said, offering his partner a wry smile.

“Just lucky, I suppose,” Obi-Wan replied, raising an eyebrow in response.  He made the first quarter of the amber liquid disappear, frowning down at the brandy.  “I don’t like being pushed, Qui-Gon.  I hated that I had to push back.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “Ah.  Yes.  Micah mentioned that you had a rather spectacular counter for them, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.  He said that I should ask you.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes heavenward.  “Of course.”  Another quarter of the brandy went away.  “You were curious about my age and possible Mastery, Qui-Gon?”  He looked at Qui-Gon again, and despite the poor lighting, there was a surprising amount of bitterness in Obi-Wan’s eyes as he spoke.  “I was granted my Mastery at the age of twenty-seven.”

His eyes widened.  “Twenty-seven?” he repeated, bewildered.  “That’s—that’s very young.”  He hadn’t attained his Mastery until the age of thirty-five, and then only because Kimal Daarc had been several years into his apprenticeship before becoming Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan.  The only other example of early Mastery that came to mind was Mace Windu, but Mace’s people were gifted in their contact with the Force, and his early advancement had come as little surprise.  “Anakin must have been an excellent student, to have gained the rank of Knight with so little time to train.” 

Obi-Wan’s mouth twisted, but the emotion behind the expression was lost to him.  “Anakin was indeed an excellent student, but he remained my Padawan for another five years.” 

Qui-Gon found himself speechless.  Knights had attained the rank of Master in the history of the Order without training a Padawan to Knighthood first, yes, but the event was rare, and spoke volumes about the character of the promoted Knight.  It was a stark reminder of Obi-Wan’s changed midichlorian count, and the raw power that lay untapped in that wiry, compact frame. 

He stood there, drink forgotten in his hand, as Obi-Wan went on.  “I don’t know what they were thinking, considering I was fighting the Council tooth and nail regarding Anakin’s training, the mission rotations, restrictions…”  He shook his head.  “Mace kept telling me it was because they’d watched my abilities accelerate as I trained Anakin, since it was quite a job to keep up with him.”

“If that was what you told the Council, I am no longer surprised—or angry—that they approved your solo mission to Yinchorr,” Qui-Gon managed.  Gods.  It should not still surprise him, the things he learned of Obi-Wan’s past.  The fact that the young man was apparently one of the strongest Masters in the Order just fit in with the fine level of control that a sixteen year-old with haunted eyes had once demonstrated before the full Council.

To his consternation, Obi-Wan flushed.  “Er, no.  I didn’t actually mention any of that to them.  I lost my temper and went the Idiot Sabaac route.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan an appraising look.  “This I can’t wait to hear.”

Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose and then gave Qui-Gon a mischievous smile.  “Tell you what.  When this Yinchorri uprising is over, I’ll tell you what I used for my Idiot’s Array.”

Qui-Gon mock-growled.  “That is not fair.”

Cheeky grin.  “Yes, Master.”

He sighed, and realized that his glass was empty again.  Perhaps he could discover a taste for brandy, after all.  “I still wish I was going with you.”

“I do, too,” Obi-Wan said, his face settling back into the pensive mask Qui-Gon had seen that morning.  “This is not going to be pleasant.” 

 

*    *    *    *

 

They met the next morning in the hangar bay, standing around the motley collection of transports—their own, and those belonging to the Republic Judicial Forces.  Obi-Wan stepped close to the first Consular-class cruiser, the _Radiant VII._   He ran his hand over the hull in greeting; the last time he’d seen the cruiser, it had been dust on the floor of a Trade Federation droid control ship.  He glanced up to see Captain Madakor standing in the cockpit, giving him a flirtatious grin.  He waved in response and rejoined the others as he noticed Mace and Yoda approaching.

Mace didn’t waste any time.  “We got Knight Naesh’ahn and her Padawan out of there just in time.  We received word last night that the Yinchorri have taken Mayvitch 7, Amador’s moon.  We don’t have confirmation yet, but we’re almost certain that nothing remains of the colony.”

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan, who was busy running through a monologue in Huttese under his breath.  “Expected?” he whispered.

“Expected, but faster than before.”  This wasn’t his fault, Obi-Wan knew, but it was hard to believe that at the moment.

“It has come to our attention,” Mace continued, looking at Obi-Wan, “that the Yinchorri have acquired Cortosis armor.  Some of you know what that means, but for the rest of you, Master Giett will demonstrate why you should be concerned.”

They watched as Micah locked an armored gauntlet into place over his left forearm.  “Padawan K’Kruhk,” he said, noticing the Whiphid’s curious gaze.  “Ignite your lightsaber, please.”

K’Kruhk glanced uneasily at his Master.  Lilit Twoseas nodded, smiling, and K’Kruhk stepped forward, igniting his yellow blade.  “Yes, Master Giett?”

“Strike the gauntlet with your lightsaber,” Micah instructed.

K’Kruhk’s eyes widened.  “Your pardon, Master Giett, but I’d rather not disarm you.  Literally.”

Micah grinned.  “Trust me, that won’t happen.  Strike as hard as you can,” he said, holding up his arm.  “Make it fast.  The Judicial crews are getting tired of waiting on us.”

“All right,” the Padawan said at last, taking comfort in the fact that no one was yelling at the Council member to stop.  He stepped forward and swung his lightsaber in a fierce strike that collided with the gauntlet—

—and his lightsaber died on contact with the metal, sparking once before shutting down.

“Oh, bloody fuck,” Garen muttered, watching as his Master took off the gauntlet.  “Lightsaber immunity.  Wonderful.”

“Not a true immunity, Padawan,” Micah said in response, tossing the gauntlet back and forth in his hands as he spoke.  “Cortosis Shield, as it is known in this form, is susceptible to repeated pinpoint strikes from energy weapons.  Given the nature of combat, however, that’s not the best defense you’ll have.  Cortosis will not damage your lightsaber; it merely overloads the circuits.  Within a few seconds, your blade can be ignited again.”  K’Kruhk breathed a sigh of relief at that, reattaching the hilt to his belt as Micah motioned for everyone’s attention once more. 

“Listen,” he said, expression turning serious.  “We believe we will likely be facing the Yinchorri in combat.  If you find yourself fighting against armored Yinchorri, look for the gaps in the armor.  Aim for joints and weak points.  Cortosis armor is also vulnerable to repeated blaster fire, if you have to resort to that.  They are fierce warriors, the Yinchorri, and worse, they’re immune to Force suggestion and many of our basic mind tricks that deal with perception.  Be careful.  Guard each other’s backs.  Think, but let the Force guide your actions, for that is the best defense you have.”

Micah glanced over at Mace, who nodded and spoke.  “You all know which ships to take.  The majority of us are going with the cruisers to the Chalenor system.  There is a chance we may catch the Yinchorri there if they plan to attack Amador as well.  The rest are going to the shipyards to meet up with the remaining Judicial ships and Master Even Piell.  The Judicial Forces have been gathering intelligence in the region, and should have updates on the Yinchorri fleet’s activities when we arrive.”

Adi Gallia stepped up next to Mace, pinning Garen with a stern look.  “Padawan Muln, repeat your Master’s instructions, please.”

Garen stood up straighter as he became the focus of attention.  “I’m skipping the Golden Nyss and heading straight to Yinchorr.  Upon arrival I will do a quick dust-landing and unload my cargo—”

“I am _not_ cargo,” Obi-Wan interjected.  Beside him, Qui-Gon’s shoulders twitched with restrained laughter.

“—and retreat immediately to Yinchorr’s second moon, which by smuggler intel is supposed to be a massive, dead rock with plenty of hidey-holes.  I stay there, out of sight, unless my cargo signals for an evac.  If an evac is called for, I snag him and retreat to the shipyards.”

“Good.  We’re holding you to that, Padawan,” Adi said, nodding.  “Take care of yourself.  While this is not your first solo piloting mission, the danger is great.”

“Yes, Master Gallia.  I’m not keen on dying any time soon,” Garen said, giving the Master a lopsided smile.

“That’s everything.  Board your assigned transports, people,” Mace said, raising his voice to be heard over the curious murmur of conversation as those gathered realized that Obi-Wan’s destination was different from their own.  “May the Force be with us.”

They scattered, Qui-Gon giving Obi-Wan a quick, one-armed embrace before he joined Micah in heading to the _Acceptance._   For a moment Obi-Wan watched as they fell into step together, the working pair-bond they’d established as children lighting with a quick flare in the Force.  That was one of the things he wanted to protect—a friendship that had withstood five Padawans, forty years, a Council seat, and the aftermath of Xanatos’s Fall. 

Yoda’s hoverchair hissed as it settled into place next to Obi-Wan.  “Strange it must be, hmm?” the ancient Master asked. 

“Strange is one word for it, Master,” Obi-Wan replied.  Qui-Gon Jinn—living, breathing, alive, and _happy_ —had been a near-constant presence at his side for two years.  He held back a grim smile, hoping he wasn’t about to go out and prove the Council correct, after all.

“Fine, we will be,” Yoda said, nodding, and reached out to pat Obi-Wan’s arm.  “Quinlan Vos, spending time with Jude Rozess he is.  Instructing her on the finer points of Temple Security, he will be.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  “May their shifts be boring,” he said.  _And free of suicidal Yinchorri pirates._

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan watched the flash of light fade out after the last cruiser jumped to lightspeed.  _Don’t die,_ he sent, trying for a light tone.  _Training your replacement would be bothersome._

 _I should be saying that to_ you _,_ Qui-Gon replied, the connection getting fainter as the distance between them increased.  _Force be with you, Obi-Wan._

 _And with you_ , he said, pulling back from the connection before it got too hard to maintain.  The pair-bond wouldn’t die, but with so many light years between them, it would be nothing more than a background hum until they were in the same system again. 

Obi-Wan turned in his seat to find Garen staring ahead with unfocused eyes, probably in the midst of a mental conversation of his own.  He looked at the young man in the pilot’s chair, who always seemed more at home in the leather freighter’s coat and trousers he wore than he ever did in Jedi tunics. 

For a brief instant, the memory of a much older man overlaid what he saw, and Obi-Wan’s heart clenched.  The Force always did seem to like playing games with Obi-Wan’s life.  He wasn’t going to get to avoid Garen’s question any longer, that was certain.

Obi-Wan shook his head, glancing down at the navicomp as it beeped to announce their readiness to depart for Yinchorr.   “Garen?”

Garen blinked, turning his attention back to the ship and his passenger.  “Yeah, sure, I heard.  Sorry.  Master Micah was giving me the rundown on how not to blow up you, me, the ship, Yinchorr, and anything else he could think of.  I think he’s certain we’re going to get into trouble.”

 _He’s probably right,_ Obi-Wan couldn’t help thinking, fighting hard not to smile.  “It’s a Master’s prerogative to worry, Garen.”

“Yeah, he said that, too,” Garen retorted, grinning.  “No stuffiness, you.  I have you all to myself for the next ten hours, and I intend to pursue you to the best of my ability.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if the sudden rise in temperature was lustful agreement or apprehension.  He still wasn’t looking forward to the conversation that _had_ to happen.  “What if I hide in the ’fresher for the entire trip?”

“You’d be bored,” Garen pointed out.  “Unless you hide in the shower, in which case I’d be happy to join you,” he said, his eyes dancing with humor and heat.

He swallowed hard.  Well.  Being reminded of that particular moment was certainly helping to convince his body that this was a _fantastic_ idea.  “Get this ship moving, and then we’ll talk,” Obi-Wan said, trying not to shift in place.  Blasted, annoying, damnable _hormones!_        

Garen busied himself at the controls, and after a moment the pinpoints of stars became streaks of white as the ship leapt into hyperspace.  “What if I said ‘Less talk, more fucking?’”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms.  “The answer would likely be, ‘More talk or zero fucking.’”

“Sometimes, Obi-Wan, you are no fun.”

The ship they were using was a light shuttle, on loan from the Judicial Forces because it had a double set of transponder codes—one Republic government, one not.  It was also small, with only one cabin for passengers and crew to squabble over. 

They sat together on one of the bunks, and Garen went from swaggering confidence to quiet thoughtfulness, intelligent enough to know that what he wanted hinged on the choices he made next.  Obi-Wan had always admired that trait in his friend, one that had usually been glossed over by people who only saw Garen’s wide, friendly smile and Wookiee-like stature.

 _You don’t have to tell him everything,_ Obi-Wan reminded himself, and spoke.  “This is going to sound like an odd question, but I want you to think about it.  When was the last time you can remember seeing me without a shirt on?”

Garen quirked an eyebrow.  “To be honest, that’s been one of the biggest teases of the past couple of years,” he said.  Then he narrowed his eyes.  “Come to think of it, you haven’t stripped for a sparring session since your Knighting.  Aalto wanted to say it was because you were a Knight and therefore being uppity, but Bella pointed out that being Knighted sure hasn’t stopped Quinlan from stripping off every stitch of clothing he can manage every chance he gets.”

Obi-Wan sighed.  Aalto would have thought that first.  The boy had improved a lot since his disassociation from Davrin, but he had a long path to walk before he stopped being an ass.  “I’m about to show you why,” he said, standing up and ditching his belt.  It was the only way he could think of to start, and it still felt like lunacy. 

“Worst seduction technique ever,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled off his tunics.

Garen laughed.  “Yeah, I’m sure there have been better—holy shit.”  He stopped mid-sentence, staring at one of the scars that marred Obi-Wan’s arm.  “That’s a lightsaber scar—son of a… _fuck_ me,” Garen breathed.  He reached out and touched the knife scar that decorated Obi-Wan’s abdomen, and Obi-Wan hissed in a breath.

“Tickles!” he blurted, when Garen gave him a worried look. 

“Right, tickles,” Garen said, staring at the scar in question, but at least the tickling stopped.  “What did you do, fall in a giant blender?”

Obi-Wan was hard-pressed not to smile at the thought.  It was almost accurate.  “You should see the one on my right leg.  Compound fracture and infection.”

“Fucking hell,” Garen said, yanking Obi-Wan back down onto the bed and diving for Obi-Wan’s right boot.  He pulled it off, ripped off Obi-Wan’s sock, and shoved up his trouser leg. 

“Wow,” he said, fingering the texture of the scar.  “Okay, forget blenders.  Shit!  Obi-Wan, this is crazy.  You and Qui-Gon haven’t been involved in missions that would leave this kind of damage.  Bella hasn’t done enough stress-shedding, which means either she hasn’t seen it or she doesn’t know.”

“She didn’t see it—she was attending a Healer’s lecture on Dantooine with a group of Padawans when most of this happened.” 

Garen, with permission, stripped Obi-Wan of his other boot and sock, turning his attention to Obi-Wan’s left foot.  “Crush damage,” Obi-Wan explained, as Garen traced the webbed scarring.  “Building collapse.”

“Right.”  Garen bit his lip.  “Is this what you meant by it being your problem and not mine?  Because Obi-Wan, this isn’t going to change my mind about what I asked.  I’m in the ‘scars are sexy’ camp.  Just—tell me how this happened?”

Obi-Wan waited, watching as Garen shed his coat and boots before sitting back down next to him.  “The Force gave me…memories,” he said, choosing his words carefully.  “After Taro Tre.  You remember the time I spent in the Healers’ Ward afterward?”  Garen nodded.  “I remember things that might or might not happen.  These memories, when I experienced them, they…translated,” he said, meeting Garen’s eyes.  “Any memory I have of being injured, there is a corresponding scar.”

Garen took Obi-Wan’s right hand in both of his own, turning it over to look at the shrapnel scars.  “It looks like you remembered a war,” he whispered.

He nodded, his mouth dry.  “Yes.”

“Is that why you have nightmares?”

Obi-Wan grimaced.  He’d suspected that his friends knew about his recurring insomnia, but not that they had known about the dreams.  “Yes.  But I also remember other things.” 

He reached out, tracing the curve of Garen’s ear before letting his hand trail down his neck, stopped by the collar of Garen’s shirt.  Garen’s eyes half-closed in bliss, and Obi-Wan smiled.  “You always did like that.”

Garen opened his eyes, staring at Obi-Wan in consternation.  “Uh…oh.  _OH._ You mean—oh.”  He ran a hand through his hair, ducking his head.  “Am I awful at it or something?  Is that why you don’t want to give me an answer?”

Obi-Wan jerked his head up in surprise.  “What?  No!  Not that.”  He shook his head.  “I’m handing this badly.  Garen, I have very fond memories of our times together.”

“Times, multiple?” Garen asked, a smile starting to form.

“Times, multiple, at different points in our lives.  It never affected our friendship,” Obi-Wan said.

“Well, then what’s the problem?” Garen scooted closer to Obi-Wan, letting their shoulders brush.  “If you’re already familiar with my kinks, then let’s skip the awkward stage and get right to the fun stuff.”

Obi-Wan grinned.  _What the hell was I worried about?_   This was _Garen_.  One lifetime or another, his friend was the same man Obi-Wan knew and trusted.  “Have I ever told you that I absolutely love your pragmatism, Garen Muln?”

“Less compliments, more touching?”

“We have eight hours,” Obi-Wan said, leaning in close and breathing in the scent of skin and hair, memories intertwining to remind him of other things.  “Plenty of time for both.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

They dropped out of hyperspace nine hours after leaving Coruscant, and found themselves facing a massive blockade.

“What the hell!” Micah growled, bracing himself as Captain Williams pulled the ship off-course, climbing away from the assembled vessels.  “Well, that confirms that they’re going after Amador.” 

Williams’ co-pilot, a Talz named Siedel, grumbled something unintelligible and leapt up out of her seat to go arm weapons.  Williams grimaced and reached over to boost their shields.

Qui-Gon frowned and took over the co-pilot’s station, running his hand along the console to shut down the blare of the proximity alarm.  Williams gave him a grateful nod.  “One of those ships looks like Golden Nyss work,” Qui-Gon noted.

“I see it.”  Micah pointed at another ship.  “This one’s Yinchorri, but it’s just older converted Nyss work, too.  I’m guessing the Yinchorri were buying them first, then got tired of forking over credits.”

The other two cruisers formed up on either side of their ship.  Adi Gallia, Plo Koon, Lilit Twoseas, and Padawan K’Kruhk were on board the _Causality_ , while Mace, Even Piell, Tsui Choi, and Padawan Theen Fida were acting as crew for the _Starlight._

It only took another few seconds for the ships to respond to their presence.  Their comm squawked to life.  “Unidentified vessels,” a reptilian voice hissed.  “You will depart.”

Micah and Qui-Gon exchanged glances.  “Not even going to pretend their intentions are noble, are they?” Qui-Gon murmured.

Micah gave him a fierce smile, leaning over to toggle the comm.  “Unidentified vessel, this is the merchant vessel _Callileo_ , along with our sister ships, the _Genevive_ and the _Tailspin._   We’ve got business down there on Amador. You mind letting us through?”

Their answer was delivered by a new voice, and the message was clear.  “Vessel _Callileo_.  You will all depart, or you will be destroyed.  You have five seconds to comply.”

“Okay, okay!” Micah yelped, mimicking the panicked trader he was pretending to be.  “We’re going, we’re going!  But my guild is going to hear about this!”  He shut down the comm, motioning for the Captain to put distance between themselves and the Yinchorri blockade.  “I guess that answers that question.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “Indeed.” 

They launched into hyperspace after Williams punched in the coordinates for the former location of the Golden Nyss Shipyards, their pre-designated fallback point.  The blockade was going to require planning to remove it, though Qui-Gon suspected that Mace already had ideas.  “I hope that’s the entire fleet and not just part of it.”

“Me, too,” Micah said, sitting down in the navigator’s chair behind Williams.  “If they’ve got any more ships involved, we’re going to need half the Temple just to shut them down.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

“Nice coat,” Garen said, appraising the leather knee-length duster with a wide smile when Obi-Wan stepped out of their shared cabin.  His tunics were wrapped up and stashed in a storage compartment, but his lightsaber was tucked in his boot, hidden from sight.  “I especially like what’s inside of it,” Garen continued.

“You’d better, considering that what’s inside of this coat was just inside of you,” Obi-Wan drawled, then grinned at the floored look on Garen’s face.

“Holy—he makes dirty jokes, folks!” Garen sputtered, recovering and running to catch up with Obi-Wan before he could reach the cockpit.  “Miracles do exist!”

“I’m just as dirty-minded as the next man, Garen,” Obi-Wan replied, settling into the co-pilot’s chair.  “I just don’t advertise it as much.”

“No kidding,” Garen said, sitting down, resting his hands over the hyperdrive controls.  “Ready to do this?”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and released it before nodding.  “Ready.”

Garen grinned.  “Oh, good.  I’m not,” he said, and dropped the ship out of hyperspace on the first warning chime.  Yinchorr appeared before them, dull and brown and uglier than Tatooine had ever considered being.  It made some of Obi-Wan’s old memories strengthen, though the last time he’d seen the planet from this approach, they were ducking Yinchorri fighters who were doing their best to blow them out of the sky.

Their comm crackled to life.  “Unidentified vessel, this is Yinchorr Ground Control.  You have entered Yinchorri space and must identify with vessel name, transponder code, and purpose of visit.”

“All yours,” Obi-Wan said.  “Time to get rid of your cargo.”

Garen released a nervous chuckle before turning on the comm to reply.  “Yinchorr Ground Control, this is the _Scything Blade_ requesting temporary docking in Tol Kashorn.  I have one passenger who will disembark, here to seek contracting work in the capital.  After that I’m out of your space for the foreseeable future, Control.  My transponder code is beaming out now.”

They waited for a long, tense moment, though Obi-Wan sensed no danger.  Well, no immediate danger.  The Force was full of warnings and portents and possibilities, and that tangled mess of threads wasn’t going away anytime soon.  Garen tapped his fingers on the controls, a habit he’d no doubt picked up from his Master.

“ _Scything Blade,_ this is Control.  You are cleared for docking in Bay Seventeen at the southern end of the capital.  Look for three sets of green and yellow landing lights on your approach.  Welcome to Yinchorr.  Mind you don’t piss off the locals.”

“Noted, Control.  _Scything Blade_ out.”  Garen turned the comm off, looking at Obi-Wan.  “That was sort of anti-climactic.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, letting Garen fly the shuttle down through Yinchorr’s atmosphere.  Tol Kashorn came into view, glittering in the dark.  In the Force, the lights were brighter, but he noticed strong touches of Darkness here and there, and wondered.

Garen touched down without the ship registering so much as a twitch.  “Time for you to get going, and for me to get the hell out of here,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling, and his hazel eyes were full of concern.  “You sure about this?”

In answer, Obi-Wan leaned across the small space and kissed Garen long and deep, savoring the moment.  When he pulled back, Garen’s pupils were almost blown.  Again.  “See, that’s not a great answer,” Garen managed, though it took him a few seconds to recover.  “That’s what’s called being a tease.”

“And you’re not?” Obi-Wan countered, smiling.  “I’ll be fine, Garen.  Keep an eye on your comm.  I’ll be in touch.  And if you don’t hear from me in twenty-six hours, head to the shipyards.”

“I am _not_ leaving you here,” Garen retorted, growling. 

“Garen, if I don’t contact you in twenty-six hours, you’re either going to need help to get me the hell off of this planet, or…”  He trailed off, thinking.  “I have an idea, one that will at least let you know if there’s anything left to rescue.”

“Not funny,” Garen muttered.  “What is it?”

“Pairbond with me,” Obi-Wan said, and was struck by a powerful wave of déjà vu.  They’d pairbonded before, on this very same rock, while fighting off Yinchorri pirates and generally running for their lives.  “It doesn’t even need to be permanent,” he hurried to say, for the circumstances were not quite the same.  “But you’ll know if I’m all right.”  _And if something goes wrong, I’ll be able to find you,_ he thought.

“Yeah, like I’d want to ditch the chance to pairbond with my best friend,” Garen smiled, holding out his hand.  “Bond away, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan smiled, touching the Force as he reached out to clasp Garen’s hand.  The response wasn’t what he’d expected; when their skin touched, his stomach turned over as the Force crested.  

He blinked away spots from his eyes from a light that had never physically manifested to find the pairbond complete and settled between them—as if it had already been there.

Garen looked stunned.  “Is it supposed to do that?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, knowing he looked just as shocked.  “No.  It—I’ve never felt anything like that.”  In a moment of paranoia he double-checked the bond, confirming that it was indeed a pairbond and not anything else.

_Fates intertwine, Obi-Wan.   Sometimes whether we like it or not…and sometimes even when it doesn’t make sense._

His breath caught as he remembered Qui-Gon’s words, one of the last things they had spoken of after seeing the destroyed remnants of Alderaan.  Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if the lesson applied, but he didn’t have much else to go on.  “Memory and recognition,” he murmured, gripping Garen’s hand tightly in his own. 

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan had never seen much of Tol Kashorn before, but he remembered enough, and the maps downloaded from a public terminal helped.  He wandered the streets, keeping his eyes and ears open, his senses alert.  The smugglers that were known to frequent the city wouldn’t be out advertising.  This was still a Republic world, even if it was a world in the midst of trying to start a war.

He found a cantina that was full to bursting with patrons, most of them off-worlders.  There were a few Yinchorri in the mix, but unlike other areas of the city, here they stood out from the crowd.  He slipped inside after shoving a credit chit into the hand of the burly, sour-looking human manning the door.  He waded through the crowd, felt or sensed several hands checking his outer jacket pockets for valuables.  One enterprising soul even tried for the blaster strapped at Obi-Wan’s side and earned a broken finger for his trouble.  Obi-Wan felt a moment’s guilt, but if he was here to establish any sort of reputation, being nice wasn’t going to earn him points.

Besides, maybe it would let the poor man know that his skills needed work.  If the pickpocket had tried that stunt on anyone else, a broken finger would be the least of his worries.

Obi-Wan shoved his way into a space at the bar, wedging himself in between a Barabel and an Aqualish, both of whom gave him dirty looks before turning back to their companions. 

“What’ll you have?” one of the three bartenders barked at him.  This one was human, and someone had done something very unkind to his face in the past.  He had one good eye, one good nostril, and his lips were drawn back in a permanent grimace.  Acid, most likely.

“Corellian brandy,” Obi-Wan said, doing a quick mental tally of the credits he carried with him and deciding that it was worth it.

“You got money, kid?”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.  “No.  I routinely walk into bars, sit down, and order one of the most expensive drinks outside of the Corellian system for fun.  I especially like the part when I’m tossed out through the nearest window.”

The man laughed in response.  “Discount for the first one, kid, then you pay full price for the rest,” he said, snagging a bottle from the wall behind him and pouring the first shot.  He didn’t try to short Obi-Wan on the amount, and the brandy hadn’t been watered down, either.  Bliss.

A moment later, the precious brandy almost came up and out of Obi-Wan’s nose as he overheard the Aqualish’s conversation.  He turned and studied the man for a moment before turning back to his glass, shaking his head.  Ponda Baba.  Ye gods. 

 _May we never meet again on Tatooine, Baba,_ he thought, draining his glass instead of savoring it as he’d originally intended.  The bartender walked by and nodded his approval when Obi-Wan signaled for a refill.

His elbow was jostled as a human woman shoved herself in between Obi-Wan and the Barabel, shouting for a Nar Shaddaan flameout and two Rylothi ales.  She grinned at Obi-Wan, tucking a lock of shoulder-length black hair behind her ear.  “Well, you are definitely new,” she said, her dark eyes flashing in the dim light.  “I’d remember a redhead with your eyes, believe me.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be tarnished in your eyes soon enough.”

“Witty!” She nodded as the drinks were set down in front of her, peering with near-manic glee at the flames licking across the first glass.  “What’s your name, new boy?”

“Ben Kenobi,” he said, the name falling from his lips as if he’d never stopped using it.

“I’m Eve Koh,” she said, holding out her hand.  He took it; her skin was the color of warm ivory, but he could feel calluses that matched heavy blaster work, and there was grease under her fingernails.  Career, this one, and not a bit ashamed of it.  “What brings you to this lovely chunk of rock, Ben?”

“I’m a contract worker,” Obi-Wan explained, nodding his thanks as brandy was poured into his waiting glass.  “No prospects at the moment, but I’m looking.  I’m good with my hands, too,” he said, deliberately emphasizing the innuendo.

Eve grinned.  “I’ll bet you are.  Grab this, Ben Kenobi,” she said, shoving one of the ales into his hand.  “And get your glass.  Help a girl out, and I’ll introduce you to folks.”

“Glad to,” he said, and followed Eve through the crowd.  She led him into a secluded area near the rear of the cantina, and as they passed under an arch he sensed the noise-dampening field.  Most of the chaos of the cantina fell away, and he sighed in relief at the near-silence.

“I pay good money for this space, so enjoy it.”  The speaker, a red-skinned Devorian male, stood up from a table in the center of the room.  There were three humans in the room aside from Eve, along with a Wookiee showing the signs of advanced age.  “Eve, who’ve you latched onto now?”

Eve handed the flameout to the Devorian, the ale to the Wookiee, and snagged the last ale from Obi-Wan to keep for herself.  “This is Ben Kenobi, Villie,” she said, and the hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck stood up.  “Says he’s a contractor looking for work, and you were just saying we might need another set of hands.”

“True enough,” Villie grinned.  “Where are you from, kid?”

“Ator,” Obi-Wan replied, glancing around at the others once more.  If there was anyone in the room who couldn’t fire a blaster in their sleep, he’d eat his robe.

“Yeah, I’ve been there.  Like Coruscant, except it’s boring as hell unless you hit the club scene.”  Villie stretched out his hand.  “I’m Vilmarh Grahrk.”

 _I know_ , Obi-Wan thought, but he smiled in response.  “Pleasure.  I didn’t expect to get noticed so soon.”

“Eve’s got an eye for talent,” Vilmarh said.  “Have a seat, Ben.  You’ve already got a drink, and if I don’t miss my guess, you’ve got good taste, too.”

Obi-Wan nodded, sitting down next to the Wookiee.  “Corellian is the best.  I’m just off of my last job, or I couldn’t afford it.”

“Expensive taste is a bitch.”  Vilmarh nodded.  “The walking carpet you sat down next to is Grrranth.  He doesn’t say much, but he’s a hell of a mechanic.  Eve you’ve already met.  This is my Second, Jones,” he said, pointing to the greasy-haired blond sitting to the left of the Wookiee.  “Behind us is Elias, and that’s her brother, Pel.  You fly, Ben?”

“Been known to,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “I know some who are better at it, but I can skip through the Maw without dying.”

Eve whistled, and Vilmarh sat up in his chair.  “You’d better not be pulling my leg, Ben,” the Devorian said, his voice low and dangerous.  “That’s not something we’re casual about in this business.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t casual about making that particular trip, either,” he retorted.  Skipping through the Maw with Garen during the war had frayed their nerves to the breaking point as they’d led Confederate ships into the trap of the black hole clusters.  “I’ve run blockades, too.  Personally, I prefer the blockades.”

“Same here,” said Jonas, nodding.  “Lasers that stay where they’re aimed are a hell of a lot nicer to deal with than gravity wells that don’t like to stay put.  What was your last contract, Ben?” he asked.  Grahrk’s Second spoke in a neutral tone, but his eyes were glittering with suspicion. 

“My last contract was running live cargo within Republic borders.  Each of us who flew under the contract did so anonymously, for obvious reasons.” 

“Brave,” Vilmarh said, leaning back in his chair.

“Or foolhardy,” Eve pointed out.  There was an angry light in her eyes that told him just what Eve Koh thought of slavery, and it made his estimation of her character rise several notches.

“Well, we did skip out two days before the Judicial Forces came screaming down on the operation,” Obi-Wan said.  If Grahrk was paying attention, he’d know exactly what Obi-Wan was referring to.  He could even reference anything the Devorian would want to know.  Depa and Eeth Koth’s full reports had been available three days after mop-up.

Vilmarh was grinning.  “Oh, yes.  I heard all about that little debacle.  Gates was being idiotic, as usual, and got caught for it.  Anything else, Ben of Ator?”

“Little bit of spice for the Hutts,” Obi-Wan said, taking a gamble.  The name he was going to drop was already well-known.  However, what he’d learned before of Villie Grahrk told him that he was still in safe territory.  “Skipped over a decent blockade, the Hutt provided the ship, cargo was transferred, everyone went home happy.”

“Which Hutt?” Jones wanted to know.

Obi-Wan smiled.  “Jabba.  Tried to double-cross me for my payment afterward.  Last Hutt contract I ever took.”

Vilmarh snorted.  “Never did like Hutts.  Black-hearted bastard worms, the lot of them.  Not a loyal bit of slime in their bodies.”  He studied Obi-Wan, his eyes sharp.  “How old are you, kid?”

“Eighteen Standard.  I’ve only been flying eight months.  Still looking to make a name for myself, which means contracts have been sparse,” he explained.  It was a typical story for a young smuggler.  Until you became famous—or infamous—there wasn’t much work for a pilot without a freighter.

“Damn.  I had you pegged as a grungy sixteen year-old.”  Eve grinned.  “At least you’re legal, though I prefer my men to be clean-shaven.”

“Shame,” Obi-Wan grinned back.  “I prefer my men any way I can get them.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Eve swore, while Jones and the Wookiee laughed.  “Every damned time I find a newbie, he’s into men!”  She looked at Obi-Wan beseechingly.  “ _Please_ tell me that you’re flexible about your sexuality!”

“I have been persuaded, on occasion,” he conceded, and Eve’s eyes lit up.

“EVE!” Vilmarh barked.  “Please, refrain yourself from flirting with everything that moves while you’re still sharing my bed!”

Eve rolled her eyes, unfazed.  “Villie, you sleep with me _because_ I’m a flirt.  It’d get damned boring if I stopped now.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan thought that Grahrk might be angry with Eve, but then he smiled, draining his glass.  “True, Koh.  So!” he said, turning his attention back to Obi-Wan.  “I might be able to use a pilot for a new run that we’re toying with.  We’ve got the ship and the cargo lined up and ready to go.  There’s just a bit of an…initiation, first.”

There was a gleam in Grahrk’s eyes that Obi-Wan didn’t like.  He glanced up at the Wookiee, who was grinning.  “Please don’t tell me it involves the Wookiee beating the hell out of me,” he said, letting a touch of fear enter his voice.  He did _not_ want to get tossed around by the mechanic, old or not.

Vilmarh laughed.  “Nah.  Grrranth’s harmless!  He’s a big, lumbering hulk, no finesse to him.  See, here’s the thing,” Vilmarh said, leaning forward in his chair and pinning Obi-Wan with a hard stare.  “I like to know that my employees can take care of themselves if the need arises.  This is a tough business, you understand.  I don’t need you on the bridge screaming and pissing yourself if we get boarded by Judicial or a competitor.”

Jones smirked.  “That’s what one of our first contracted pilots did.  Poor stupid sod.”

“You any good with that blaster you’re carrying?” Vilmarh asked.

Obi-Wan tossed back the rest of his brandy, sensing what was coming.  “I can hit what I’m aiming at.”

Vilmarh nodded.  “Glad to hear it.  How good are you without it?”

His answer was amusing enough to the Devorian smuggler (“Depends on if I’ve already been shot.”) to gain him access to the docking bay that Grahrk’s people used.  A second Devorian was waiting next to the only ship, being fawned over by two female Yinchorri.  There was another Yinchorri female perched on a loading crate, watching over the three of them indulgently.

“This is my cousin, Olmar Grahrk,” Vilmarh said, slapping the second Devorian on the back.  “These are his new wives, Jenk and Fewn.  The prettiest one over there is Vooma.”

“Charmed,” Obi-Wan said, and in the next second ducked a punch that was thrown with enough force to take his head off at the shoulders.  “What the hell?” he yelled, as Olmar advanced on him with a huge grin.

“Hey, this is one thing I don’t just take people’s words on,” Vilmarh said, smiling as he, Eve, the Yinchorri, and the rest of his crew formed a haphazard ring around Olmar and Obi-Wan.  “Don’t even think about going for that blaster—Jones will take your head off before you get the chance to fire.  Stay alive for the next five minutes, or figure out how to take my cousin down without killing him, and you’ve got a job.”

“You could have _warned_ me!” Obi-Wan groused, shedding his coat and tossing it at Eve, who caught it and bundled it up, crooked grin on her face.

“That’s not near as much fun, Kid!  Come on, do us proud.  Olmar, kick his ass!” Vilmarh roared, and Obi-Wan danced out of reach as his new opponent aimed a kick at his jaw.

“Yeah, keep dancing, boy!” Olmar crowed.  “If I hit you once I’m going to crush you like a bug!”

 _I’ve been taunted by things far scarier than you,_ Obi-Wan thought, throwing himself into a forward roll.  He leapt up, spun around before Olmar could move, and placed a boot into Olmar’s backside, shoving him into Jones’s arms and eliciting a round of laughter from their observers.  Olmar was big, strong, and fast, but if anyone had trained him to fight, the Devorian hadn’t been paying attention—which was how Obi-Wan had managed to subdue the man the first time around.

Olmar snarled and charged Obi-Wan.  Obi-Wan held his breath, sidestepped at the last possible moment, and then grabbed Olmar’s arm as it passed over his head.  He flung himself down at the ground while holding on.

The Devorian’s shoulder dislocated with a sharp crack that was swallowed up by Olmar’s howl of distress.  He reacted faster than Obi-Wan expected, though, and in the next instant Obi-Wan’s face was a mass of white pain that left him stumbling. 

They circled each other while the smugglers shouted encouragement and insults:  Olmar, with his left arm hanging useless by his side, and Obi-Wan, who was trying to ignore the fact that his nose was broken and streaming blood.  The next time Olmar threw a punch, Obi-Wan was ready.  He met it with a block, twisting Olmar’s arm around and sliding in close.  He hooked his forefinger into the Devorian’s right nostril and pulled forward.

Olmar froze, his eyes already starting to water.  “And now you’re my best friend, aren’t you, Olmar?” Obi-Wan crooned, smiling and putting more pressure on the nerve cluster. 

“Fuck you,” the Devorian sputtered, then whimpered as the pain increased.  “Ahh!  Fuck!”

Vilmarh made a disparaging noise.  “Olmar, I can’t believe you let him do that to you,” he said, while his crew jeered and booed.  “I wanted to see someone lose consciousness.”

“Fuck you, cousin,” Olmar retorted, his eyes running freely now.  “Call off the damned match before he decides to rip my nose off!”

“Fine,” Vilmarh sighed.  “Olmar, you look pathetic.  Let go of my cousin, Ben.  The job’s yours.”  Vilmarh grinned.  “Drinks are on me, kid.  Let’s go back to the cantina and put a dent in that bar.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

After scouring the space for listening devices or other pleasantries, Obi-Wan settled onto the bed in the small room he’d rented in Tol Kashorn and pulled out his commlink.  “Gar?”

“Oh, bloody hell, I was starting to get worried,” Garen’s voice came back, distorted by distance and possibly a half-kilometer of rock.  “Are you all right, Ben?”

“Got punched in the face by a Devorian the size of a house,” Obi-Wan replied, touching his still-sore nose.  Resetting it had been a bitch and a half, but it wasn’t like he’d never had practice.  “On the plus side, I got a job out of it, so it’s been a productive night.”

“A job already?  Damn, you work fast,” Garen said, whistling.  “When do you head out?”

“Three days.  You’ve got plenty of time to relax between now and the return trip.”

“Eh, take your time.  The atmosphere up here is relaxed, and I’m hanging out in a really nice bar the other smugglers have put together.  They keep wanting me to play Sabacc, but I’ve pled poverty and told them my bedmate has all of my credits.”

Obi-Wan grinned.  “That’s true enough.  Enjoy yourself; I have it on good authority that you’re hanging out with Vilmarh Grahrk’s people.”

“Don’t know the name.  Should I?”

“Get used to hearing it.  That’s my new employer.  Good night, Gar.”

“Night, Ben.  Keep in touch.  I’ll get lonely if I don’t hear from you again soon.  And you know what I do when I’m lonely,” he purred.

Obi-Wan smiled.  “Good _night,_ Gar.”

He shut off the commlink, lying down in bed after toeing off his boots.  His head was throbbing, but he reached out to the Force and the pain eased.  He couldn’t heal his nose, not without attracting far too much attention, but he could keep the damage from getting any worse.

One night here, and he’d already run into the man who’d been held responsible for creating a smuggler’s alliance with the Yinchorri.  Olmar Grahrk had used that power to incite the Yinchorri to war.  Now Obi-Wan understood why the Force had pushed him so insistently onto this path, for the timing couldn’t have worked out better.

He rolled over and forced himself to go to sleep, and with his last conscious thought wondered how Qui-Gon’s evening was progressing.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Qui-Gon Jinn was not a happy man.  He gritted his teeth and held on as the _Acceptance_ skipped through Amador’s upper atmosphere, while Captain Williams swore and pulled back on the stick, trying to keep the cruiser from losing any more altitude.  There was a giant crack in the viewport, and Qui-Gon was sitting right in front of it, holding the transparisteel together with the Force.  If they lost that viewport, they lost the cockpit—and their lives.

“This plan, it is not working out so well,” Tsui Choi said over the comm.  He and Micah were riding in the gunner’s pods the cruiser was equipped with, firing at the Yinchorri starfighters that were still trying their best to blow them out of the sky.  Siedel was running back and forth in the hold, regulating power as best she could and shouting instructions back at Williams in Talzzi.

“These damned things are tough!” Micah yelled. 

“The fighters, they are difficult to destroy,” agreed Tsui Choi.

“Heavily armored, maneuverable little gnats!”

“Indeed,” said Tsui Choi.  “My batteries, they are draining fast.  A decision must be made soon, my friends.  Our options, they are dwindling.”

Padawan Fida, who was watching the sensors in the rear of the cockpit, muttered under his breath before speaking up so the comms would broadcast his voice.  “Masters, another one of the Yinchorri cruisers is turning, and it looks like it’s headed this way.”

Williams glanced over at Qui-Gon, waiting for a decision.  Qui-Gon looked down at the planet below.  “Down it is, Captain,” he said, taking a moment to strap himself in.

Williams nodded, but he looked grim.  “I don’t know if I can keep this ship together for re-entry, Master Jinn.  She’s taken a lot of damage.”

“I’ll worry about that.  You just find us a place to land,” Qui-Gon said, drawing on the Force to keep them intact while Micah and Tsui Choi worked to keep them defended.

“You mean crash,” Williams clarified, smiling despite their situation.  “Hang onto your robes, people.  We’re going in.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

“Sith Hells.  Mace, we’ve lost the _Acceptance_!” Adi’s voice sounded in his ear.

 _Dammit._   Mace risked a quick glance down at the sensors.  The cruiser was still in tracking range, but it had entered Amador’s atmosphere and was falling fast.  He shook his head, exchanging a quick look with Saesee Tiin.  The Iktotchi Master veered the _Starlight_ sharply to the right to avoid another volley of cannon fire from the swarm of Yinchorri fighters. 

“Too far gone,” Saesee confirmed.  “There’s no chance that we can use this ship to give them higher lift, even if we could get through this mess!”

Mace nodded, grim-faced.  They’d taken serious damage, though the _Acceptance_ had borne the brunt of it.  The battle had started out well, with their five cruisers well-matched against the six Yinchorri capital ships that made up the blockade.  Even after the Yinchorri hangar bays had ejected dozens of fighters, all of them heavily armed and armored, the odds had remained in their favor.

Then ten more Yinchorri capital ships had dropped out of hyperspace, with only a moment’s warning from the Force.  The ships had lined up with dark efficiency, releasing hordes of fighters that had overwhelmed their cruisers.  Not even Jedi could keep this pace up for long.  “People, it’s time for a strategic retreat,” he announced, shielding his eyes from the fireball as a fighter that had slipped in too close exploded when their gunner pummeled it.

“Dammit, Master Windu, we don’t leave our people behind!” Lilit retorted from the _Causality._   “The Yinchorri fighters are right on the _Acceptance’s_ tail!”

“At least the capital ships aren’t still raining fire down on them, Lilit!” Dama Ro said, coming up in the _Trident Moon_ to take his place on Saesee’s wing.  “They’re safer than we are right now.  If we don’t get the hell out of here, they’re going to turn us into dust.”

“We’re down to four cruisers against thirteen capital ships and a swarm of fighters,” Mace said.  “Backtrack to the yards.  We don’t have the firepower to deal with this.”

“Thirteen?”  There was a pause; when Even Piell spoke again, he sounded satisfied.  “At least we accomplished _something_ , Mace.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough,” Saesee murmured, and started a strafing run to give the _Causality_ the chance to escape to hyperspace.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Jorek, First Speaker of the Council of Elders, walked through the stark halls of the _y’tineer_.  He was joined after a few minutes by Sothek, Second Speaker, though at first Sothek kept his silence.

“Is it really him?” Sothek ventured at last.

Jorek nodded.  “It is.  Now that you have joined me, we will speak to him together.”

They entered the communications center for the _y’tineer_ , where a protocol droid waited next to a holographic emitter.  “Activate it,” Jorek ordered.

The emitter came to life, revealing the image of a man who buried his features in a hood, leaving all in shadow.  Jorek was not sure of the man’s species, but it didn’t concern him much—all bipedals looked alike to him. 

“Greetings to you.  This is quite an honor,” Jorek said, dropping his head in a human-like bow.

“Greetings, First Speaker,” the man said, and his voice was rough and cold, harsher than the winds of Yinchorr in winter.  “I take it all is going as planned?”

“Yes.  The Jedi have engaged the blockade around Amador.  We allowed them to press their advantage for only a few minutes before bringing in another portion of the fleet.  We have confirmed that they lost one ship on Amador.  Our fighters are pursuing the survivors as we speak.  We lost three capital ships in the attack, but our numbers are still far greater than theirs.”

“Excellent,” he whispered, and though he seemed pleased, Jorek felt the temperature in the room drop.  They had never met their benefactor before, since he had always sent others in his stead.  “It is time to consolidate your power, First Speaker.  Your alliance with Grahrk has reached the end of its usefulness.  Only the Council of Elders must hold sway in the Expansion region.”

Jorek shared a look with Sothek, who was frowning.  “Elder Kardek will not be pleased, nor will Elders Volk and Petak.  They gave their daughters in trade for this alliance,” Sothek said.

“That is not my concern.  If you wish to restore the Yinchorri honor and rule this sector, sacrifices are called for.  Clear the hurdles from your path, or fail.  The choice is yours.”

Jorek lowered his head in acknowledgement.  For the future of the Yinchorri, he would do whatever was necessary.  “It will be done, Lord Sidious.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

The ship was dark and quiet.  Through the broken viewscreen of the _Acceptance,_ Qui-Gon could see the first stars of evening appearing overheard, one by one.  He turned in his seat, looking for Captain Williams, and was surprised to find no one there.  For a moment he considered panicking, before dismissing it as a useless gesture.  His next step should be to get up, to look around, to search for Micah, Tsui Choi, and the others…but he couldn’t.  He just didn’t seem able to muster the energy it took to stand.

Time passed, and he felt no discomfort, no concerns.  In a matter of minutes he saw proof of the cold form and freeze on the controls, though he felt no chill.  Ah; he was dreaming.

With that realization came the appearance of his partner, kneeling beside Qui-Gon in the space between captain’s chair and copilot’s chair.  But this Obi-Wan was not the young man he’d been working with for two years.  This man was older, wearier, and his eyes were haunted by unfathomable losses.  His hair was longer, but the bright copper had faded, and there was white at Obi-Wan’s temples and in random strands here and there.  This was the Jedi Master who existed behind that young face and mischievous smile, the one Qui-Gon still had such a hard time acknowledging.

“Qui,” he said, smiling, as he rested his hands on Qui-Gon’s knees.  “You are going to hurt when you wake up.”

Strange.  Never had Obi-Wan addressed him so casually.  “After the way this ship crashed, I’m not the least bit surprised,” Qui-Gon replied, discovering that it hurt to speak.  _Oh yes_ , he thought.  _Some part of my body is not the least bit happy with me._

Obi-Wan looked up at him, and light streamed in through the broken viewscreen and bathed his face.  In that light his eyes were full of warmth, love, and no small amount of playfulness.  “Don’t worry.  You’re not going to slip off and make friends with the dead just yet.”  Then the playfulness vanished, and he turned serious.  “When you wake up, Qui-Gon Jinn, you get the hell off of this ship.  Run.  They’re coming for you, and they won’t stop until you’re all dead.”

Qui-Gon hesitated, torn by questions of how Obi-Wan could have known that.  Then again, this _was_ a dream. 

Obi-Wan leaned in, close enough for their lips to brush (were Qui-Gon so inclined) and stared into Qui-Gon’s eyes.  “Wake up, Qui.  Wake—”

“—UP, damn you!” Micah was shouting.  Qui-Gon jerked awake and then swore viciously as something pinning his right shoulder jabbed him with cruel fingers.

“Better!” Micah said, grinning with far too much cheer as he ignited his orange lightsaber.  “Now I know that you’ll hold still while I lop this off.”

Qui-Gon glared up at him, then looked down to see the stabilizer bar that had gone straight through the meat below his right shoulder, pinning him in place against the seat.  There was only enough of the bar visible to make it recognizable—the rest had to have emerged through the other side of the chair. 

Later, he would remember that moment and spend a long period of time in the ’fresher, trying to decide if he was going to vomit.  For now, a strong sense of urgency made him ignore the pain.  “Hope it cauterizes the wound as you pull it out,” Qui-Gon muttered as the lightsaber passed through the air in front of him, trimming off the rest of the stabilizer a bare inch from his tunic. 

“That’s the idea,” Micah replied, shoving the remains of the stabilizer out of the way.  “There wouldn’t be much point in letting you bleed out on me, would there?”

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and then gripped Micah’s hand, steeling himself.  “Pull,” he said, and then howled in pain anyway as Micah yanked the bar free.  He bent over double, panting and seeing white and dark spots compete for dominance across his vision. 

“Are you all right?” Micah asked, touching the place on Qui-Gon’s back where the strut had pierced through.  The warmth of the Force came with that touch, and Qui-Gon almost sobbed in relief as the pain ebbed. 

“F-fuck,” Qui-Gon managed through gritted teeth.

“You’re in great shape if you’ve got the breath to swear at me.  You never swear at me, Qui-Gon Jinn.  Makes me feel special.”

“Wasn’t swearing at you, Mic,” Qui-Gon said, grabbing the edge of the destroyed console and pulling himself to his feet.  “Where are the others?”

“They’re in the back, gathering supplies.  Tsui Choi is tending to Siedel, who took a hell of a knock to her head.  Theen Fida has a few burns, but except for some great bruising, the rest of us are fine.  We’re in good shape, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon shook his head.  “No.  We have to get off of this ship, right _now_ ,” he said, stumbling forward.  “They’re coming.”

“Sithspit,” Micah swore.  He turned and leapt through the cockpit door, which was far more off-center than Qui-Gon remembered it being.  He followed his oldest friend, ignoring the blood that was starting to stain his tunics.  Not a full cauterization, then, but that didn’t matter.  He wasn’t bleeding badly enough to die from it.  He would die a lot faster if the Yinchorri found them.

“Let’s move it, people!” Micah was yelling as Qui-Gon made it into the main hold.  “The Yinchorri are on their way!  We need to get off of this ship.”

Williams shook his head.  “Siedel can’t walk, Master Giett.  Concussion, and it’s left her a bit rough,” he said.  Siedel growled something at him in her own language, probably saying otherwise.

“I’ll carry Siedel,” Micah said, turning and pointing at Theen Fida.  “Padawan, did you find the medical kit?”

“I’ve got that, Master Giett, but the rations are gone.  Unless the Amadorians are willing to feed us, we’re going to get hungry.”

“Then we’ll get hungry.  Tsui Choi, may I task you with covering our exit?”

The Aleena Jedi Master grinned.  “My friends, they will never trace our path.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

The next day dawned hot, dry, and miserable.  Obi-Wan woke up to a dull ache in the bones of his face and a stunning amount of nostalgia for the desert air.  Who would have ever thought he’d miss Tatooine? 

There was also the matter of a dream that he couldn’t quite remember, but he didn’t feel a pressing need to dig it out of his subconscious.  If it was important, the memory would return. 

He was at Grahrk’s private docking bay in record time, nabbing a quick breakfast from a Yinchorri woman in the public market.  He wasn’t sure what he’d eaten, but at least it had been cooked first.  She seemed well-used to serving clientele that weren’t local, which was fortunate, as the Yinchorri tended to eat their food while it was still alive and screeching.

Vilmarh Grahrk had yet to make an appearance, but Eve was there.  She offered him caff with a grin.  “Early riser, or haven’t been to bed yet?”

“Early riser.  I’m guessing you haven’t slept,” Obi-Wan said, sipping the caff and trying not to make a face.  Not even Garen would have been impressed, and he at least liked the stuff.

“Not yet, Ben,” she replied cheerfully. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, setting the caff down on the same crate that Vooma had used last night.

“Go for it,” Eve said.  “Just watch your questioning.  You know how paranoid some of us can get.”

“No, it’s not about Vilmarh’s work,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head.  “I heard rumors in the cantina last night that the Yinchorri had destroyed the Golden Nyss.”

Her smile faded around the edges.  “That one’s not a rumor.  It’s truth.  The Yinchorri have put a fleet together.  We’ve heard that they plan to take control of the entire sector.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise.  “Aren’t you worried about that?  I mean, if the Yinchorri are going to be waging a war right over our heads, this probably isn’t the safest place to be.”

Eve pursed her lips, considering, before stepping in close to Obi-Wan.  “I like you, Ben.  Villie considers us family, but you’re new.  Don’t ask so many damned questions.  We’re not worried about the Yinchorri, and you shouldn’t, either.”

Obi-Wan held up his hands.  “Forget it.  Instead, tell me how Olmar has managed to snag three Yinchorri wives.”

Eve laughed.  “Oh, that.  From what I’ve heard, they’re the ones who pursued _him._   We’ve been making jokes about Olmar’s prowess for months now.  Now then,” she said, stepping even further into his space, close enough that her breath wafted across his skin.  “We’re going to discuss business later.  No word on our projects to anyone else, not even to your little boyfriend hanging out with the other crews on the moon.”

He grinned.  “I figured you’d monitor my chatter.”

Eve nodded.  “We haven’t survived this long without keeping an eye on our new recruits, Ben.  What’s the deal with the two of you?”

“We’re together, but he’s taking this round of work off.  Burnout.  He stayed around in case I didn’t find work so I wasn’t stranded on this rock.  And Gar’s not little, Eve.  Not in either sense of the word.”

She chuckled, sending pleasant warmth against his ear.  “Holos, or I don’t believe you.”

“EVE!” Jones roared, appearing on the ramp of the ship.  “Stop humping the newb!”

Eve grinned and sauntered off, while Obi-Wan collected his caff and forced himself to take another sip.  The last time this disaster had wrapped up, Olmar Grahrk had been imprisoned, charged with creating the alliance between the smugglers and the Yinchorri.  His marriage to the daughters of several council elders had cemented the deal.  That had paved the way for Olmar’s smuggling group to have first claim on any smuggling or trading contracts in Yinchorri-occupied space. 

Except:  It was quite obvious that Olmar was not in charge of this particular smuggling group—Vilmarh Grahrk was.  Olmar might have gotten several marriages out of the deal, but Obi-Wan was willing to lay his lightsaber down on the fact that Vilmarh was the brains behind the alliance.  What bothered him, left him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, was that he knew that Adi Gallia had once questioned Vilmarh with her lightsaber held to his throat.  After an intense set of questions, she’d proclaimed him innocent of any involvement.

Vilmarh had managed to lie to a powerful Jedi Master.  Obi-Wan glanced up at the ship; Grahrk and his cousin were sleeping somewhere within.  Both of them bore watching, but it was Vilmarh who might prove dangerous.

 

*    *    *    *

 

That afternoon, when more respectable smugglers chose to rise for the day, he sat down with Vilmarh, Jones, Eve, and Olmar to discuss the smuggling run that Ben Kenobi would be flying on their behalf.  “You familiar with the Perlemian Trade Route?” Jones asked.

“Intimately,” Obi-Wan said, nodding.  He’d only spent six months sitting on top of the damned thing. 

“Good. I want you to skip over it here,” Jones said, pointing through the hologram at one of the Mid-Rim junction points of Tynna.  “You’ll hit Malastare from the back end and meet a Sullustan there named Shaggy.”

A Sullustan named Shaggy.  Now there was a contradiction in terms.  Obi-Wan smiled.  “What’s my cargo?”

“In this case, a classic.  Twenty metric tons of Muon Gold.”

Obi-Wan made a face.  “That spice blend is foul, Vilmarh.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Vilmarh agreed, chuckling.  “Which is why I only sell it to Bimms and Screes.  Their physiology chews up the nasty bits and is as good for them as Grey Gebaki is for us.  I want to keep my customer base, not kill it off.”

He nodded, giving the Devorian an approving glance.  “Smart choice.”

Vilmarh grinned, while Jones pointed back at the map.  “Your first drop is here,” he said, pointing at Kalarba.  “The tourists make for good business.  We leave half of the shipment there.  Your contact is Veem Kaldora, a friend of Eve’s.  The second drop is on Gyndine.  You’ll leave half of the remaining spice on a private satellite.  One of my contacts will pick it up later.  You’ll come back here for refueling, and then you drop the rest of the cargo on Borleias.  Another of Vinnie’s contacts will pick it up, because from there we skip it into the Corporate Sector, and that’s a whole other grav-ball game.”

“Out of a matter of politeness, we don’t play in their yard,” said Olmar, giving Obi-Wan a smile that tried to be friendly and ended just outside of sour.  His shoulder had been relocated, but his arm was still resting in a sling.  Obi-Wan guessed that the massive Devorian wasn’t used to losing those introductory bouts.

“All right.  And then what?” Obi-Wan asked, glancing at Jones.

Jones smirked.  “Well, then, newb—then you come home, and Villie decides on whether we keep you or not.”

Obi-Wan was considering a retort on the subject on whether he’d be _willing_ to be kept when Grrranth raced in, distress in every line of the Wookiee’s body.  He bent down close to Vilmarh and spoke, not realizing that Obi-Wan would understand every word.

[Villie, our people on the moon are under attack!]

“What?” Vilmarh’s face dropped the friendly mask, anger lighting his features.  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

[The Yinchorri have gone after the smuggler’s moon, Villie,] the Wookiee growled back.  [They’re in the midst of blasting it to pieces!]

Some of the anger became shock, and in Vilmarh’s eyes were the first traces of fear.  “Are you certain?”

Grrranth gave him a disgusted look and pulled out a datapad.  On it was the frozen image of several Yinchorri vessels surrounding the second moon.  There were blurred streaks of red impacting the cratered surface.

“We need to get out of here,” Obi-Wan said, standing up as Jones deactivated the holographic map.  The Force was trilling its own warning at him, telling him that it was time to move.

“We don’t need to do any such thing,” Vilmarh tried to say, but he was cut off by Grrranth’s howls as the Wookiee told him off in a colorful and anatomically incorrect fashion.

“What the hell’s going on, Villie?” Eve said, her blaster appearing in her hand, though it looked like she couldn’t decide who to point it at first—Obi-Wan, or Grrranth.

“The Yinchorri have attacked the smuggler’s moon,” Obi-Wan told her.  “What, I didn’t tell you I can understand anything Grrranth says?” he said, blinking with innocence when all four of them rounded on him in surprise.

“It has to be a mistake,” Olmar insisted.  “Vooma!” he yelled, turning and running for the docking bay offices. 

The docking bay doors that led out into the street were hammered on next, and several hissy, reptilian voices spoke.  “Vilmarh Grahrk!” they called.  “You and your crew should join us quietly!  If we have to come inside, we will make you pay!”

Obi-Wan looked at Vilmarh, who was staring, wide-eyed, at the door.  “They promised,” he whispered.  “This is _not_ part of the deal!”

“I think your deal’s been cancelled,” Obi-Wan pointed out, then pulled out his commlink and thumbed it on.  “Gar?”

“Busy busy busy busy!” Garen yelled, and even through the limited range of the comm Obi-Wan could hear the sound of laser fire. 

“Summarize!” Obi-Wan barked, ducking on instinct when a loud thump sounded outside the docking bay doors.  The Yinchorri were trying to get in.  If not for Vilmarh’s paranoia and the reinforced doors, they would already be inside.

“Moon’s destroyed, Yinchorri chewed it to bits with no warning!” Garen said, and now Obi-Wan could hear the scream of the shuttle’s engines, straining in protest at what Garen was demanding of them.  “I’ve got some of Grahrk’s folk with me.  I’m skimming Yinchorr’s atmosphere now, but this ship is going down hard.”

“Hold on as long as you can,” Obi-Wan replied.  “I’m coming.”

“You’d better!”

“Come on, you lot!” Jones was shouting.  “Get on this ship and let’s blow this joint before they break down the doors!”

Obi-Wan turned and ran, a grim-faced Eve at his side, as they raced up the ship’s boarding ramp and entered Vilmarh Grahrk’s ship, the _Inferno_.  [Strap in,] Grrranth told them both, already belting himself into a seat that looked like it had seen several years’ worth of Wookiee hair.  [We’re jumping the bay doors once Jones blows a hole in them!]

The ship shuddered as the weapons fired.  Obi-Wan was pressed down in his seat, straps only half in place as the _Inferno_ rose up from the bay.  There were several jolts to the ship as the Yinchorri on the ground fired on them, and then they were clear.

“It’s not safe to head out,” Obi-Wan said, dropping the straps as Eve unbuckled her own.

Grrranth nodded as he released his restraints.  [Villie will head to the opposite side of the planet and wait to hear about the others in orbit.  We’ll be able to see the Yinchorri coming, if they do, and get the hell out of here.]

After a few minutes of waiting and worrying about Garen, whose distress he could sense through the pairbond, Obi-Wan saw Vilmarh and Jones approach, both of them angry.  “Ask that boy of yours about my pilots!” Vilmarh bellowed at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan activated the comm again, wincing at the squeal of a signal that someone was making a half-assed attempt to jam.  The signal cleared up as he and Garen both switched to a pre-designated bandwidth.  “Gar?”

“I’m on the ground,” Garen answered, and there was pain in his voice.  “Went down harder than I thought. My leg’s broken, so I’m not walking out of this wreck.  Grahrk’s pilots are bleeding in a few spots, but we’re all alive.”

“Did anyone else get out of there?” Obi-Wan asked, before Vilmarh could yell the question himself.

There was a pause, followed by the shuffle of someone else stepping into pickup range.  “Villie—we’re it, Boss.  Every other ship I saw make it out of the moon was taken down by the Yinchorri.”

Jones’s face darkened with anger, while Eve spit out something in Huttese that even Obi-Wan wasn’t familiar with.  Vilmarh, though…Vilmarh Grahrk just shook his head.  

“Your luck’s run out then, Adams.  We’re leaving.”

“What the hell—” Eve stared at Vilmarh as if he’d lost his mind.  “We don’t leave our people behind, Villie!”

“We are _not_ leaving them,” Obi-Wan said, over the roar of anger from Grrranth and the horrified denial of Villie’s pilots coming from his comm unit. 

Jones gave them a dispassionate look.  Vilmarh just shrugged, offering them a smile full of teeth.  “That’s the way it is in this business, boys and girls.  Time to cut our losses and run.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Fine, but take me back down there and drop me off.  I don’t leave _my_ people behind, and I’ll fetch yours while I’m at it.”

“Ben, I’m sorry, but that’s not happening.  When we get where we’re going, I’ll be happy to let you off my ship.  But I’m not going back down there,” Vilmarh said, still smiling, but his voice was harsh.

“I see.”  With one swift movement and assistance from the Force, Obi-Wan had his lightsaber in his hand.  He ignited the blade, leveling it at Vilmarh’s throat before Jones’s blaster could clear its holster. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Eve sputtered, her eyes widening.

“I don’t think you understood me,” Obi-Wan said, smiling in return, but his expression was far colder than anything Vilmarh could come up with.  “You’re going to take me back down there.  You’re going to drop me near the crash site of their ship, and I’m going to save my friend and your people.  What you do after that, I don’t give a damn.”

Vilmarh recovered quickly, laughing at him.  “Ben—if that is your name—Ben, my dear Jedi, don’t be foolish.  I know that you can’t kill me, not without getting in trouble with your Council and the Republic.  What kind of a threat is this?”

Obi-Wan’s smile vanished.  “You initiated an alliance between yourself and the Yinchorri, and encouraged them to go to war against the Republic.  Those are some very serious charges, Villie.  I could kill you right now and the Judicial Forces would thank me for saving them the cost of the trial.”

“Bah!  The only thing you have is your own word, and you’re not old enough to have the reputation for that to be credible evidence,” Vilmarh spat.

Obi-Wan edged the lightsaber in closer to Vilmarh’s skin.  The Devorian winced at the heat and stretched his neck in an attempt to evade the blade.  “In your haste to save your own ass, Villie, you left dear cousin Olmar behind.  I’m sure he and his lovely brides would be willing to testify against you, since you’ve left them to the Yinchorri’s tender mercies.”

Vilmarh’s defiance vanished.  He must have known, as Obi-Wan did, that Olmar didn’t have the stomach to withstand Jedi interrogation for long.  He swallowed, glancing over at Jones.  “Jones, get this ship down on the ground.”  When his Second hesitated, Vilmarh roared at him.  “Now!”

“Sure, Boss,” Jones said, holstering his blaster and giving Obi-Wan a furious glare before disappearing into the access corridor for the cockpit.

“Gods and spit,” Eve said, still staring at Obi-Wan.

Grrranth, however, was starting to laugh.  [You must be one of Reynaar’s students.]

Obi-Wan glanced at him, though he didn’t lower his blade.  [Indeed.  He’s a good teacher, but it was one called Chewbacca who prompted me to learn the language in the first place.]

The ancient Wookiee nodded.  [I’ve known Reynaar for a long time.  He tries to avoid me now, since he’d have to arrest me.]  He chuffed another laugh.  [Lives take us down strange paths, young Jedi.]

“Don’t they ever,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling.

Eve’s shock had faded, and now she glared at Obi-Wan.  “Fucking Jedi.  I should have known.  What are you going to do, arrest us all?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “I wasn’t on Yinchorr for you.  I was only looking for information about the Yinchorri.  I’m not interested in arresting smugglers for hauling low-rate spice.  As far as I’m concerned, you can all leave with Vilmarh.”

Eve opened her mouth, closed it, and then looked at Vilmarh.  The Devorian was staring down at the blue blade hovering under his chin, trembling.  “Did you mean what you said, about saving our people, too?” she asked.

Obi-Wan nodded, noticing the way her eyes narrowed as she regarded Vilmarh.  She was thinking something through, and the results would probably shake up Villie Grahrk’s little smuggling ring even more than the Yinchorri execution of his fleet.

The ship rattled as it settled in for a landing, and a moment later Jones reappeared.  “That’s as close as I can get to the crash site without making us a giant target,” he said, fuming.  “Now get the fuck off of this ship.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  “Of course.  However, if you go for that blaster as I depart, I’ll make certain that you can only masturbate with your left hand for the rest of your life.”

Jones swore at him, but kept his hands well away from his blaster as Obi-Wan stepped back, leaving Grahrk to collapse against one of the hold’s control systems.  “Goodbye, Vilmarh.  I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“I fucking well hope not,” the Devorian retorted, touching his throat with his fingertips.

Obi-Wan turned to go and then paused, prompted by the Force.  He glanced back; Eve approached Vilmarh, smiled, and stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek.  “I quit, Villie,” she said cheerfully.  “I’ll miss you, but I’ll have my honor to keep me warm.  We look after our own, you bastard.  And if _I_ ever see you again, I’ll put a blaster bolt through your skull.”

Vilmarh scowled at his former Third as she sauntered past Obi-Wan, hitting the controls for the boarding ramp as she did so.  Obi-Wan smiled, followed her, and heard the unmistakable sound of the Wookiee’s steps as he joined them.

“For gods’ sake, Grrranth.  Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Jones yelled.

[With them,] Grrranth replied, not even bothering to turn around.  [Jedi are much more interesting to hang around with than cowards.  I’ve wanted to rip some arms off of those Yinchorri twits since we arrived on this miserable rot-hole.]

Obi-Wan stepped down onto the hot sand, his boots sinking in, and it was a comforting feeling.  The moment Grrranth had both feet on the ground, the ramp began to close.  Jones lifted off without bothering to wait for the hatch to seal and engaged the sublights.  The _Inferno_ streaked off towards the heavens, leaving the three of them standing alone in the desert.

[Asshole,] said the Wookiee.

           

*    *    *    *

 

The Yinchorri pirates were hounding the citizens of Amador.  Qui-Gon and Micah did their best to keep their group hidden from view, but that was becoming harder by the hour.  Several times they were spotted by Yinchorri squads and had to fight their way free, gaining more injuries as they went.

Theen Fida was using his right arm to support Siedel, though a blaster score marked his crest and he’d taken a bad hit to his left arm.  The Talz was not faring much better.  They had defended her well, but she couldn’t walk unassisted.  Her leg wound, earned during a confrontation with the Yinchorri, was paining her just as much as the concussion, though she refused to admit it.

They stopped behind the dubious refuge of a building that had caved in during the Yinchorri’s aerial bombardment of Amador.  Micah tore a strip from his robe and began wrapping his hand, stilling the blood from the knuckles he’d split after punching through weakened Cortosis armor.  “How’s your shoulder?” he asked Qui-Gon.

“Hurts,” Qui-Gon answered, holding his lightsaber in his left hand as he stood watch.  The entire area screamed danger, even though no Yinchorri squads were in sight.  “I’m fine, Mic.”

Micah grinned.  “Sure you are.  And I still have all of my hair.”  He tied the makeshift bandage into place, then retrieved his lightsaber from the ground and held it in his right hand.  He’d already lost the other; Micah had set his lightsaber to overload and shoved it into the rear of a Yinchorri transport.  The resulting explosion had covered one of their many escapes.  Now he was a _Jar-Kai_ practitioner without a second blade, but he was also a Form VI Master, and far from helpless.

“They’re coming,” Qui-Gon said, catching a glimpse of the pale green of Tsui Choi’s lightsaber as it flash-ignited to signal them.

Williams was in the lead, grimacing as he loped across the terrain at the highest speed he could manage.  He’d twisted his knee in the crash, and a Yinchorri fighter had scored a mark on his hand that had left it damaged and useless.  Qui-Gon felt intense sympathy for the Captain.  If the injury couldn’t be healed, his piloting skills would be in doubt.  It wasn’t a good position to be in when piloting was your livelihood. 

“We’ve got a lead on a shuttle,” Williams said, bending over and resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“Indeed,” said Tsui Choi.  “There is a docking bay not far from here.  The ship, it is unguarded.  Time is of the essence, my friends.  We must go.”

Micah and Qui-Gon exchanged glances before looking back at Siedel and Theen Fida.  [Ready,] the Talz insisted, holding up the blaster she carried in her right hand.  [We go now.]

“Ready, Padawan?” Tsui Choi called.

Theen smiled, exhausted but confident.  “Let’s get out of here, Master.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

They crept up on the shuttle, which was easy to track—Garen had left a debris trail almost a klik long.  Even then, they were too late; the Yinchorri scout ships had already landed, taking up position around the downed shuttle.

“Ben?”

“I’m here, Garen,” Obi-Wan answered his comm.  “We’re close, but the Yinchorri are a lot closer.”

“I know.”  Garen said.  “I guess we’re past that whole subterfuge thing now, huh?”

“Looks like it.”  Obi-Wan smiled.  “I made a couple of new friends, so it’s not all bad.”

“Sounds great!” Garen replied, trying to sound cheerful, but it couldn’t mask the pain in his voice.  “Listen, I—I really don’t know what to do, here.  Do you have the means to fight your way through the Yinchorri?  Because we sure don’t.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, torn between encouragement and the truth.

Eve held up her blaster.  “We could take them,” she said, confident in her own abilities. 

It was Grrranth who put his paw on her weapon, pushing it down.  [No, girl.  They’re wearing Cortosis.  You’re good, but they outnumber us.]

After Obi-Wan translated for her, Eve sighed.  “And you left your bowcaster back in the docking bay,” she pointed out, frustrated.  “What about you, Jedi?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “There’s too many of them.  It’s suicide if we go after them now.”  He was about to flick outgoing signal back on when the Force whispered.  He listened, and when he spoke again he knew how he was going to save his friend. 

“The Yinchorri are executing Grahrk’s people, Garen.  When they board the shuttle, tell them who you really are.”

“And they’re going to just believe that I’m not one of Grahrk’s pilots?”

“If you’re waving a lightsaber at them, yes,” Obi-Wan grinned.

“Good point.  What about Grahrk’s people?  They don’t look too happy about this whole ‘execution’ thing.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Eve Koh, then up at Grrranth.  Their expressions were hard, ready and determined to do what it took to get their friends out alive.  “They’d better learn how to be Jedi, fast,” he said.  “Tell the Yinchorri that the other pilots are from the Temple, same as you.  The Yinchorri aren’t into subtleties—they’re going to want to know how Jedi snuck onto their home planet without notice.  They won’t kill you until they’ve interrogated you.”

“Right.  Interrogation.”  Garen uttered a watery chuckle.  “You mean torture.”

Obi-Wan gripped the comm in his hands until his knuckles whitened.  Garen had gone through the basics, same as every Padawan in the Temple, but he wasn’t ready for this.  Force! 

“Listen to me, Garen Muln.  I _will_ find you.  That’s what the pairbond is for, remember?  No matter where they take you, I can find you.  And no matter what they do to you, I’ll be right there, just a thought away.  Do you understand me?”

“You’d better come save my ass, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Garen replied, and there was a smile in his voice again when he spoke.  “You still owe me shower sex.  Oh, Sith take it, they’re coming in,” he said, and there was a garbled squawk from the comm as Garen either shut it down or destroyed it.

They watched the Yinchorri board the shuttle, and even from their distant vantage point they could hear shouting.  Obi-Wan didn’t think to breathe, tension gripping him as he waited to see whether or not he’d just killed his best friend.

After three minutes had passed, the Yinchorri pushed the first pilot out of the twisted back end of the shuttle.  “That’s Thol Heeniir,” Eve said, identifying the Firrerreon man.

Another human was shoved out, none too gently, and the unfortunate man wound up on his face in the sand.  He struggled to get to his feet, spitting something unintelligible at the Yinchorri.  [Adams,] said Grrranth.  [If he doesn’t stop swearing, the Yinchorri are going to shoot him anyway.]

Last came Garen, who was thrown out of the shuttle to collapse onto the ground.  Even at this distance, Obi-Wan could see the dark stain on his friend’s left leg.  Fresh blood.  The Yinchorri weren’t doing that broken leg any favors.  Heeniir helped Garen to his feet, though it was obvious Garen wasn’t going to be upright for long. 

 _Garen?_ Obi-Wan called, reaching through the link.  _No, no—don’t try to find me,_ he sent, as Garen’s head snapped around to search for Obi-Wan.

 _Sorry,_ Garen replied, and his mental voice was soft, a far cry from his usual boisterous self.  _Not used to this._

_You’re doing fine, Garen.  Can you tell me what they’re saying?_

_I wish.  They’re hissing at each other in their own language.  Arguing about something, I think._

_I’m guessing they’re going to stash all three of you in a transport, but haven’t decided what their destination will be.  We’ll follow as best we can._   Obi-Wan noticed Adams was spouting off again. _And tell Adams to shut the hell up before the Yinchorri rip his head off for fun,_ he added.

Garen turned and spoke while the Yinchorri made threatening gestures, and Adams fell silent, though Obi-Wan didn’t think he’d hold his temper for long.  _They took my lightsaber, Obi-Wan._

 _We’ll get it back._   The squabbling ceased; the Yinchorri guarding Garen and the pilots motioned for them to walk to the nearest scout ship.  Heeniir glared at the nearest guard before picking Garen up off the ground, carrying him to the ship.

_I think I love this guy._

_Be well, Garen.  I will find you as soon as I can.  Force be with you._

_And with you, Obi-Wan.  Just make it fast, huh?_

Obi-Wan turned and focused his attention back on the smugglers.  “We need a transport.”

Eve nodded.  “There’s a settlement not far from here.  Let’s go.”

Dusk saw them overlooking a Yinchorri bunker, their stolen speeder bikes stashed behind a line of boulders.  They stood together, tracking the battalions of soldiers that were marching within.  The setting sun threw the Yinchorri shadows into sharp relief, making them seem even larger, more intimidating, than they already were.

[Busy little bastards,] Grrranth commented.  [No wonder Villie felt so comfortable making a deal with the Yinchorri.  They sure as hell look like they could take on the Republic.]

Obi-Wan nodded, studying the layout of the complex.  It was well-guarded, yes, but the Yinchorri were expecting to defend against a military force, not a strike team.  That left him with options.

“We’re not getting in there without a battalion of our own,” Eve said, crossing her arms.  “Or we could blast it from the air with a ship.”

“Option one is out.  There are far too many Yinchorri ships wandering around for option two.”  Obi-Wan smiled, thinking of the improvisations he and others had thrown together during the war when equipment had gone scarce and the Separatist threat had loomed over their heads.  “But I have an idea.”

           

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan leaned against the outer wall of the bunker, the shadows keeping him hidden from view.  The Yinchorri were overconfident, and had set no external sensors.  Only cameras were being used for exterior bunker security, and those were easy to avoid. 

When the first explosion tore through the darkness, he waited until he could hear the sounds of running feet before leaping up and over the wall, landing with a muted thud on the duracrete on the other side.  He took a moment to smile at the flames shooting up from the main gate.  Grrranth’s drive-by thermal detonator had certainly gained the Yinchorri’s attention.

Another explosion tore through the night, and this one crumbled part of the bunker’s retaining wall on the far side from where he stood.  That one was Eve, applying detonator tape to a seam under the cover of darkness. 

The bunker was to his right.  Obi-Wan darted across the short space, unnoticed in the ensuing chaos.  He rested the hilt of his lightsaber against the wall and ignited it, gritting his teeth as he forced it up and over, carving a door out of the durasteel.  He kicked it in and ducked inside, and to his relief, found no one waiting in the hallway. 

Obi-Wan’s sense of Garen told him he needed to go down at least one level, but he didn’t have time to go searching for a lift.  He shoved his lightsaber into the floor and spent another moment cutting a hole large enough to let him pass through, taking out part of the power to the base as he worked.  The lights flickered on and off, and alarms brayed inside and out.

He dropped down and almost landed on top of a Yinchorri guard, and with the first pass his lightsaber shorted out when he missed the armor joint.  The guard hissed and raised his blaster, firing at point blank range.

Obi-Wan deflected it with his hand, wincing as the heat from it blistered his flesh.  _Right,_ he thought, as the Yinchorri halted in surprise.  _That’s why Anakin always wore gloves for that trick._   He re-ignited his lightsaber and swung, taking the guard’s head off before he could recover. 

He picked up the guard’s blaster rifle and walked further down the corridor, stopping in front of a junction.  Garen was unconscious or asleep; he was getting nothing through the bond except for his friend’s presence.  He turned and went left, and dealt with the next Yinchorri by shoving him down the hall with the Force, slamming him up against the far wall before letting him drop to the floor in a senseless heap.

Garen was behind the door the Yinchorri had been guarding, as was Thol Heeniir.  The latter looked up when he entered, managing a smile of greeting when he saw the gleaming lightsaber in Obi-Wan’s hand.  The pilot looked like he’d been beaten for hours, but his species were a strong, resilient lot. 

“Greetings,” Heeniir said, his voice a rasp.  “I take it you’re Kenobi?”

“That’s me,” he said, nodding as he tossed the Firrerreon the blaster rifle he’d acquired.  “Where’s Adams?” Obi-Wan asked, bending down to kneel next to Garen.

 He frowned, touching Garen’s face with gentle fingers.  Garen was bruised and bleeding, but looked as if he’d endured nothing so far other than fists and a lack of medical treatment.  The bones in his face were fractured but not distorted.  At least three of Garen’s fingers had been broken, and others were dislocated.  Nothing else was damaged save the wounds Garen had suffered in the shuttle crash.  Obi-Wan breathed out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that things hadn’t been worse.

“The Yinchorri barely focused on me, for all I look like hell,” said Thol, standing next to Obi-Wan.  “That boy kept running his mouth, trying to make sure they focused their attention on him and not us.  Worked for a while, but Adams couldn’t stop yammering.  Once the Yinchorri realized that Adams had nothing else to offer them, they killed him.”

 “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said.  He reached for the Force and found the broken bones in Garen’s leg trying to infect.  Obi-Wan quelled that and pinched a nerve, giving his friend some relief from the pain.  The harsh lines on Garen’s face eased, though he didn’t regain consciousness.  The rest would have to wait.

The Firrerreo gave the blaster a once-over, familiarizing himself with the weapon.  “Who else is with you?”

“Eve Koh and Grrranth.  They’re doing their best to distract the Yinchorri, but that won’t last long.  We need to go.”  He hung his lightsaber from his belt and gathered Garen in his arms, standing up and turning to face Thol.

Heeniir made a face.  “Just between the two of us, I’d rather have you swinging that lightsaber than rely on my blaster rifle to save us.  I’ll carry him.”  Together they managed to get Garen draped over Thol’s shoulder.  It wasn’t perfect, but the smuggler would still be able to fire as they went.  “Now, we go,” he said, and let Obi-Wan precede him out the door.

 

*    *    *    *

 

“So, you come here often?”

Quinlan Vos opened his eyes and gave the Jedi Knight standing in front of him a disbelieving stare.  “That is the worst pick-up line I have _ever_ heard.”

Jude Rozess laughed and sat down on the steps next to him, resting her hands on her knees.  “Better than my asking if you were tired from running through my dreams all night.”

“But that one has a history!  It’s a classic!” Quinlan grinned, stretching his legs out of the traditional meditation posture. 

“The other one is also a classic, just less imaginative,” she pointed out.

“Are you bored, Knight Rozess?”

Jude collapsed back onto the carpeted stairs in a sprawl.  “Gods, yes, Quinlan.  Your company is wonderful, but three days of high alert status is starting to get to me.”

“If you’re getting that tweaked, you should call in your replacement,” Quinlan advised, his senses stretched out as he listened to the sounds of the Temple at midnight.  Never did the Jedi Temple of Coruscant entirely sleep, for Coruscant was a busy world, and at least a quarter of the Jedi in residence were nocturnal.  Still, it was quiet at the foot of the Grand Stair.  He could hear the flow of air from the recyclers, and a distant droid bleeping as it tended a worn power coupling.  Other than that, there was nothing.  It had been uneventful since Master Yoda had assigned him as a temporary addition to Temple Security, though he got the feeling the ancient Master hadn’t been doing him a favor.  There was some background hum that kept rising and falling, warning of a danger that had not yet come to pass.

Fun times.

“I’m not that out of it yet, though give me another two days and I’ll be considering it.  Besides, I still have to convince you to come have breakfast with me when our shifts are over.”

Quinlan glanced over at his companion.  “Quit inviting me to the commissary and I might consider it.”

“Picky, picky,” she replied, staring up at the massive, echoing space over their heads.

“Sorry, Jude.  I’m with Obi-Wan on this.  If I want food, I’ll buy it and cook it myself.”  He grinned.  “Or convince a charming young blonde to take me out for a meal.”

“Not on _my_ salary,” Jude retorted, and her expression shifted into wary curiosity.  “You know Knight Kenobi well?”

“Well enough,” he replied, standing up to continue stretching.  It was almost time to do their rounds again, and he looked forward to being on the move.  Sitting on his ass for half the night was something he was loathing to repeat again tomorrow.  “We’re not best friends, if that’s what you mean, but you tend to get to know the Knights in your age range.” 

Quinlan had worked with Obi-Wan on two occasions before casual friendship had taken root.  Once had been when Obi-Wan was several weeks shy of his sixteenth year.  Quinlan had been charmed by the boy three years his junior.  The Padawan Obi-Wan had been was still learning his way, and a wry sense of humor had made up for a couple of stumbles during that shared mission.

The second time they had met, on Ragoon VI, Obi-Wan had been Knighted for eight months and had just turned seventeen Standard.  That meeting stood out in Quinlan’s memory with stark clarity; there had been a frightening amount of knowledge lurking in those changeable eyes.  Quinlan had taken one look at Obi-Wan’s face and all concerns he’d had over the younger man’s too-early Knighting had fled in a heartbeat. 

The sense of humor was still there, though.  That trait saved Obi-Wan from seeming too otherworldly to Quinlan’s eyes.  Also, that boy could _drink._

After their first meeting, young Quinlan had given idle thought to dating an older Kenobi, one who’d passed the stumbling stage but still possessed that wit and that glorious copper hair.  Knight Kenobi, however, was someone Quinlan couldn’t even conceive of flirting with.  He was simply _not ready_ for the things that lurked below the surface of those glittering eyes.  Every time he looked too long, Quinlan had the disturbing sense that Obi-Wan knew all there was to know about Quinlan Vos, including things that Quinlan had yet to figure out, himself.

Besides, if Master Tholme was to be believed, Obi-Wan’s interest had already been captured by someone else.

Jude was studying him, curiosity replaced by concern.  “Are you all right?” she asked.  “You look like someone just danced across your pyre stone.”

“I’m fine,” Quinlan said, trying to smile, to reassure.  “I’m sure there are plenty in the Temple that wonder about Kenobi, but I’m not one of them.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jude hurried to say, though a flush stained her cheeks even as she spoke.  He shook his head; her Master had done her no favors by not curing her of that little tell.

“I’m not deaf, Jude.  I’ve heard the rumors same as anyone else.  You’d think that since the man’s been a Knight for two years that folks would shut the hell up.”

“But…” Jude hesitated before realizing that Quinlan was waiting for her to continue.  “He stayed partnered with Jinn.  That has spoken volumes to some about his readiness for Knighthood, despite what the Council decreed.”

“Ah,” Quinlan said, nodding.  “How old were you when you were Knighted, Jude?”

She narrowed her eyes.  “Twenty-one standard, Quinlan.  What’s your point?”

He stepped into a slow dance of the fourth kata, just to be blasted _moving_.  “I was barely nineteen Standard when I was Knighted, and like a silly git, declared that I was ready to go on solo missions.  Do you know what I learned, Knight Rozess?”

She shook her head, giving him her full attention.  It was what Quinlan was starting to like about her.  She was still a relatively new Knight, yes, and hadn’t toured the Outer Rim like he had, but Jude knew how to listen. 

“I learned that I was a baby-faced boy to the rest of the galaxy.  I was legal, but I had no reputation, no true understanding of what my Master had gone through to pave the way for me,” Quinlan said.  “It was damned hard going.  I learned how to use that ignorance to my advantage, after a while, which is why I’m still alive.  But think of it, Jude—he was a sixteen year-old Jedi Knight, not even recognized as being of legal human age on most Inner Rim worlds.  How much of a pain in the ass do you think it would have been to do the work the Council assigned?” 

Before she could answer, Quinlan stopped the kata and knelt down in front of her.  “Do you know why Padawan Davrin was ejected from the Temple, Jude?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head again.  “I know he did something stupid, but most of us just assumed he was asked to leave.”

He grinned, tight and feral.  “Oh, he was asked to leave, but he was escorted out by Judicial, and it will be a long time before he sees the sky again.  His Master is on permanent sabbatical.  None of us likes to find that we have harbored a rapist, or that someone who has guarded our back was caught attempting to murder one of his rape victims.”

Jude’s eyes widened.  “Force and spit, Quinlan!”

“The only reason I know is because I was there, helping to catch the little bastard in the act.  The records are sealed, partly to protect the integrity of the Order, partly because he was underage and therefore his identity is guarded by law.  You will say nothing, not to anyone.”

“No, of course I won’t,” Jude affirmed, recovering with remarkable aplomb.  “I just—I don’t understand why you’re telling me this in the first place.”

Quinlan sat back down, smiling.  “If you keep up the work you’ve been doing, you’ll be head of Temple Security soon, and you can read the transcripts yourself.  

“Before we discovered what Davrin was up to, I saw Obi-Wan try to speak to him.  I missed most of the conversation, but I heard the important bit.”  Obi-Wan told Quinlan later that he’d sensed something wrong inside Davrin, worse than when they were kids and Davrin was just an annoying part of a bullying trio.  The description of what Obi-Wan had felt from Davrin had made Quinlan’s skin crawl.  Later, Quinlan had sensed it as well, and felt nauseated for days afterward.

“He was asking Davrin to go to his Master and talk to her, to find help before he lost himself.  Davrin’s response was loud and clear, though.  I think every Jedi within a half-kilometer radius heard him.  ‘No Council fuck-toy is ever going to tell _me_ what to do,’ he said.”

Quinlan could tell from the way that Jude’s mouth twitched in disgust that she’d heard that particular rumor, too, and didn’t like it.  “That was uncalled for, no matter the situation,” she said.

“Davrin left.  Obi-Wan just stood there, watching him go.  I imagine he’s heard worse, working the missions he and Master Jinn do, but it’s always different when you hear it from a fellow Jedi.  Obi-Wan turned and looked at me, and on his face I saw everything I needed to know about the case I’d been working on, the rapes I’d been investigating.  My partner and I tailed Davrin that night, and the rest you know,” Quinlan finished.

“Sweet Force,” Jude breathed, resting her face in her hands.  “You know, you could have just said ‘Obi-Wan’s a great guy!’ and I would have believed you.”

“If that were the case, you wouldn’t have asked me,” Quinlan pointed out, smiling when she punched him in the shoulder.  “I suppose I could have been subtler.”

“Quinlan Vos, I do not think you do anything subtle,” she said, her smile fading as she noticed the expression on his face.  “What?  What is it?”

He stood up, palming his lightsaber as he reached out with the Force.  Gaps.  He was sensing gaps. 

“Comm Master Yoda,” Quinlan ordered, stepping forward.  “I can’t sense Tieren or Valan.”  They didn’t feel dead—no.  There, the unmistakable feel of a Jedi passing into the Force.  Close by.  _Shit_.  They were already right on top of the Temple, and their approach had gone unnoticed.

“Oh, hells,” Jude muttered, snagging her comm with one hand and her lightsaber with the other.  She activated a pre-coded signal and then shoved the comm back into her belt.  “Sticking with the plan?” she asked.

“Herd them up the main staircase as best we can,” Quinlan agreed, nodding.  “Try not to die.”

“You, too,” Jude replied, and bolted off in the other direction to meet up with the East Tower Guard.

Quinlan went west, and from there the plan fell apart.  He met his first Yinchorri pirate when the latter blew a hole through the outer wall with a thermal detonator.  The blast took out two of the ancient statues that lined the hallway, several wall-hangings, and left a passageway the size of three Wookiees for the Yinchorri to invade the Temple.

He wiped the dust from his face and charged.  “You know, we have a door chime,” Quinlan informed the reptile, shoving his yellow blade through the shoulder joint of the pirate’s armor.  “Really, it’s considered very polite on Coruscant to use one.”

The Yinchorri howled and swung, catching Quinlan across the chest with something that looked like a very large vibroblade mounted on a pike.  He rolled with the blow, gasping as he tried to get his wind back.  Two more Yinchorri leapt into the temple, and the first one showed no signs of slowing down despite the fact that he was now missing an arm.

Perhaps this was going to be a bit more difficult than he’d thought.  _Master Yoda!_ Quinlan sent at full volume, too busy not dying to bother with a comm.  _I think we need a new plan!_

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan awoke, smelled dry desert air, and spent a full seven seconds trying to comprehend where he was.  The sounds he could hear baffled him; the feel of an arm draped over his side was warm and comforting, if confusing, but not as confusing as the fact that his fingers were entwined in someone else’s hair.   

His sense of location and time jolted into place with a start.  This was Yinchorr.  The hair in his hand was attached to Eve, who was lying on her side, facing away from him.  Strangely, it was Grrranth’s snoring that helped settle him.  He sat up, easing himself out from under Garen’s arm, and peered around in the dawn light.  The air was already warming up, and felt a lot better than the freezing night they’d endured, huddled together in a desert cave for warmth.

Garen woke up and peered up at him, and for a moment his hazel eyes showed the same confusion that Obi-Wan had awoken with.  “Am I still dreaming, or did you get your scrawny butt captured by the Yinchorri, too?”

“I am not scrawny,” Obi-Wan retorted, calling on the Force before touching Garen’s left cheek.  It looked to be healing nicely, though his friend’s face was a spectacular assortment of blue, purple, black, and green bruises.  “How does that feel?”

“Hurts,” Garen said, shrugging one shoulder.  “But not near as much as it did yesterday.”  He held out his hand with a questioning look, and Obi-Wan took it, helping Garen up into a seated position.  “Oh, wow, the world is spinning,” Garen said, staring around with a bemused expression.  Then he glanced over at the sleepers next to Obi-Wan and grinned.  “I take it these are our new friends.”

Obi-Wan nodded and pointed.  “Eve Koh.  Grrranth the Wookiee.  Both of them are former members of Vilmarh Grahrk’s smuggling outfit.  They weren’t happy about their boss running without mounting a rescue attempt.  They helped me save you and Thol Heeniir.”

“Must have been a brilliant rescue.  I’m sorry I slept through it,” Garen said, looking sheepish.  Then he focused on Eve again.  “Huh.  I’m jealous.  Not everyone gets the equivalent of a giant stuffed Wookiee to sleep with.”

Eve opened her eyes and looked up at them.  “Giant stuffed Wookiees don’t _snore_.”

[I am not snoring.  I am breathing deeply.]

“Man, I was dreaming about aerial bombardment.  Deep breathing, my ass,” Garen replied, rubbing his jaw and wincing.  Obi-Wan hid a smile while Eve buried her face in Grrranth’s arm, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Grrranth sat up, dragging Eve with him.  The smuggler buried herself in the Wookiee’s lap to stay warm, since out of all of them, she’d been wearing the least clothing when the Yinchorri had attacked the docking bay.  [When I first met Reynaar, I thought it was just him.  I have since come to realize that all field Jedi are smartasses.  Is it some strange bonus that comes with being Knighted?]

Garen grinned.  “I wouldn’t know.  I’m just a lowly Padawan.  Though, you should meet my Master.  He can’t even get through a Council meeting without a smart remark.”

“And he’s _on_ the Council,” Obi-Wan pointed out, which made Grrranth laugh.

Thol Heeniir ducked into the cave, the blaster rifle still strapped across his back.  “Ah, good.  Everyone’s back in the land of the living.  And you look much better,” he said, turning to Garen and offering his hand.

Garen took it, nodding.  “I told you, Jedi Healing is the best perk this job has.  But I’m so glad I slept through it.  I didn’t want to watch Obi-Wan fix my hands.  It always looks creepy.”

“You’re welcome,” Obi-Wan drawled.

“Being that I have now been on the receiving end of that talent, I have to agree with you.  However, we should really be going,” Thol announced, squatting down on the cave floor next to Obi-Wan.  “The Yinchorri patrols searching for us have slacked off, so it would be wise to take advantage of that lull and find a new hiding place.  The further we get from that bunker, the happier I’ll be.”

“We’ve got three speeder bikes, so two of us can double up again,” Eve said, leaning back against Grrranth’s chest.  “But I’m open to suggestions about where we should go.”

“Can we expect further Jedi intervention, Knight Kenobi?” Thol asked, his tone formal.  It was a Firrerreon gesture; the man had given up on his people’s custom of hiding his name from all, but other habits he still kept.

“Not for some time, Thol Heeniir,” Obi-Wan replied, for Thol had asked for a truthful response.  “The Yinchorri fleet is pushing for control of as much of the Expansion Region as it can get, and the Order is trying to prevent other planets from suffering the same fate as Mayvitch 7.  I also doubt that the Yinchorri are going to be letting any other craft into Yinchorr space, now that they know we’ve already slipped onto their planet unnoticed once before.”

[We’re on our own, then.  Not too surprising,] Grrranth said.  [I doubt that any of Villie’s old hiding holes are useful to us.  If the Yinchorri have found Olmar, then he’ll likely have handed those things over to them to save his own skin.]

“What about the inn?” Thol asked, glancing at Eve.

Eve made a face.  “It’s an abandoned structure in the capital,” she explained, when Obi-Wan and Garen gave her curious looks.  “The Yinchorri might search there.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “At this point, the Yinchorri may well search everywhere, Eve.  There aren’t a lot of safe places, and it might serve us well if Vilmarh has no ties to it.”

[There is the possibility of supplies still lurking in the sub-basement of the inn,] Grrranth rumbled thoughtfully.  [I would prefer not to live off of those annoying little scrub lizards for the next month.]

Eve still didn’t look convinced, though Obi-Wan couldn’t blame her.  “It’s a place to start,” he said, helping Garen to stand.  Garen wobbled back and forth for a moment, but the strength of his grip on Obi-Wan’s hands told Obi-Wan that Garen was at least capable of holding on for a speeder ride.  “If the Yinchorri are too close, we can always move on.”

“All right,” Eve conceded.  “Let’s go.”         

 

*    *    *    *

 

It was near dawn, Coruscant time, when Quinlan Vos found himself in the company of Depa Billaba, Master Yoda, and Yarael Poof.  They had forgone the Council chamber, since a good half of the Council was embattled somewhere in the Expansion Region, and were seated in Master Billaba’s office instead.  It was dimly lit, peaceful, and full of plants.  Quinlan had always liked it, and had spent a lot of time in the room as a child, kneeling at his Master’s side.

Today, however, that peace was hard to find.

“How many did we lose?” Master Poof asked, his lined, weathered face seeming even more grim than usual.

“Knight Tieren Ne-Tan, Knight Valan, and Master Suon.  Tieren and Valan died defending their posts.  Suon shielded one of the support areas from a suicide bomber, but died in the blast,” Depa replied, her eyes full of quiet grief.  “I had hoped to avoid the pyres this year.”

“Within the Force, they are, and never truly lost to us,” Yoda said, his voice grave.  “Worse, it would have been, if warning we had not been given.”

That was something that Quinlan didn’t want to think about.  This was bad enough.  He couldn’t remember a time when Jedi had been killed on Temple grounds.  Tholme would know. 

For a moment, Quinlan sincerely missed his Master, and wished the man wasn’t holed up with T’ra Saa in the Dantooine temple.  Fecking honeymoon.

“Knight Rozess and Knight Baytes were both injured in the attack, as was Knight Vos,” Depa said, giving Quinlan an accusatory look.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying not to growl the response.  “One broken arm and one cracked jaw?  That’s nothing.”

“I believe the Outer Rim term is ‘curb-stomping,’” Depa snapped, her voice harder than he usually heard it.

“Good thing there was an armor joint at the groin, then, wasn’t it?” Quinlan replied with forced cheer.  “Otherwise you would be bereft of my opinions.”

“Why you are here, that is,” Yoda said, before Quinlan and Depa could continue.  It wasn’t an argument, not really; Tholme and Master Depa had sniped at each other in good fun for years before Quin came along, and the habit had been ingrained by many visits.  “Tell us, you will, your thoughts on the Yinchorri invasion,” Yoda instructed.

“They had schematics of the Temple,” Quinlan said, his voice flat.  “They had to—they knew where to plant every charge to emerge into a primary corridor.  I doubt that they just got lucky seven times.  They knew which two guards to take out to get the maximum time for infiltration before we would notice.  They were on their way to the primary support areas for the central tower when Knight Rozess and I intervened.”

Master Poof nodded.  “Yes, that has been our consensus as well,” he said.  The Quermian Master sighed.  “We need more information.”

“More information we will have when stopped, the Yinchorri are,” Yoda retorted, scowling.  “But this attack, helps our friends, it does.”

“Oh?” Quinlan perked up.  If anything positive came out of this debacle, he wanted to know about it.

Depa nodded.  “We could not elicit more aid from the Judicial Forces without Senate approval, but because the Jedi Temple has come under attack…”

Quinlan smiled, the first one he’d managed in hours.  “…we come under special purview now.  Master Depa, I could happily kiss you.”

“And my mate would be after you with a stick,” the Chalactan woman replied, smiling.  “But yes, you are correct.  We can call in another part of the Judicial Fleet and send them out to confront the Yinchorri with Master Windu and the others.”

Yarael Poof and Yoda got out of their chairs, though Quinlan gave Master Yoda a surreptitious hand down while Poof and Depa pretended not to notice.  “More work we have to do this day,” Yoda said, planting his gimer stick firmly on the floor and giving Quinlan a look.  “Return to the Healers you will,” he ordered, stern.  “Unbroken you must be, if join the rest of the fleet you plan to.”

Quinlan’s head jerked up in surprise.  Considering the scuttlebutt he usually heard about his unreadiness and potential darkness, this was a shocking but welcome honor.  “Yes, Master Yoda,” he said, giving the ancient Master a bow.  “I had planned on returning, regardless.”

“Oh?” Depa gave him a graceful raised eyebrow.  “This is new.”

He smiled.  “I am plotting, Master Depa.  _Someone_ has to introduce Knight Rozess to real caff.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

“That was the worst damned landing I have ever seen,” Mace said, tightening the bandage on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

“Fuck you, Mace,” Micah said, raising the oxygen mask from his face so he could reply.  “I thought that was a beautiful landing.”  He shoved the mask back into place and glared.

“Especially considering that we were on fire,” Qui-Gon pointed out before shoving his own mask back over his nose and mouth.  Smoke inhalation always made Micah cranky.

“I concur,” Micah replied, his words distorted by the mask when he didn’t bother to move it.

For a moment, Mace smiled.  “It’s good to see you both.  The others are in better shape than you two, since the smoke filled the cockpit but not the cargo area.”

Qui-Gon frowned, even though that _was_ good news.  _We lost Siedel._

 _We almost lost Theen Fida with her,_ Micah added, then coughed into the mask for good measure despite sparing his voice.  _I thought Tsui Choi was going to eat those Yinchorri for breakfast_.

“Padawan Fida will live, though I imagine his crest will be scarred.  Tsui Choi is with him while the medics tend to him, making sure there’s no further damage.”  Mace inspected the bandage he’d wrapped.  “How does that feel, Qui-Gon?”

He moved his shoulder experimentally.  His range of motion was limited, but better than he’d experienced while stranded on Amador.  “Better.  Thank you, Mace.”

Mace nodded.  “Can’t have you old men falling apart on me, can I?”

Micah lifted the mask again.  “Who the hell are you calling old?” he groused.

“You, you idiot,” said Adi, walking up next to them and pulling the oxygen mask back down onto Micah’s nose.  “Breathe before you pass out.”

Micah grumbled but did so, which was a good thing, considering the green tinge to his skin.  Qui-Gon doubted he looked any better.  _What did we miss?_ he asked.

“A disaster,” Mace said, his eyes sparked with anger.  “The Yinchorri have a fleet larger than anything we’ve seen in decades—maybe even centuries.  We’ve got a count now on twenty-six capital ships, and that’s not a confirmed total.”

“Great,” Micah muttered through the mask.  “Four Judicial ships and a couple of shuttles against twenty-six well-armored destroyers?  I hope Coruscant knows that we’re going to need help.”

“Chancellor Valorum hasn’t been getting anywhere with that damned committee,” Mace said, shaking his head.  “We’re not getting help from that quarter anytime soon.”

Adi surprised them by smiling.  “Then it’s a good thing the Yinchorri were stupid and went after the Temple, wasn’t it?  Thanks to that, we now have the authority to call upon the Judicial Fleet directly.  I was just speaking with Master Yoda and Depa.  There are ten ships on their way out to join us with full complements of volunteer fighters.  It doesn’t even up the odds, but we’ll think of something.  We always do.”  Her smile faded.  “A success never comes without cost, though.  Master Suon and two of our Knights were killed in the attack.”

Qui-Gon leaned back against the shuttle boarding ramp.  Three of them lost, and they weren’t even on the front lines.  It wasn’t unheard of for skirmishes to happen on Temple grounds, but this was different.  The Yinchorri had just brought the war to their doorstep.  “Who?” he managed despite his tight throat and the threat of a coughing fit. 

“Master Suon, Knight Tieren Ne-Tan, Knight Valan.  They are being held in stasis until the Yinchorri crisis is dealt with,” Adi said, laying a hand on Mace’s shoulder.  “Yoda wants to wait for the pyres until we can all return to honor them.”

“Force keep them,” Mace murmured, while Micah swore under his breath.  Mace turned his attention back to Qui-Gon and Micah.  “We haven’t heard from Knight Kenobi or Padawan Muln since engaging the Yinchorri fleet.  Are they all right?”

Micah nodded, slipping the mask off as his skin regained its normal color.  “Garen’s alive, but that could mean anything.  You, Qui-Gon?”

“Obi-Wan is as well, though I can’t tell you anything more than that.”  The background hum of the pairbond was reassuring, and he was grateful for it.  However, after having dwelled apart for days, Qui-Gon was keenly aware of how much he missed Obi-Wan’s running commentary and soft, steady mental voice.  It made him wince to think about how ridiculous he’d once been, trying to insist that he wanted to resume working alone.  Why the hell had he ever thought that a good idea?

“Good.  When you two are ready, we’re going to meet in the briefing room.  We’ve got a lot of planning to do if we’re going to stop the Yinchorri with the resources we have,” Mace said, allowing Adi to give him a hand up.

“Sir!”

Qui-Gon pulled the oxygen mask off, enjoying the sensation of breathing without feeling choked, as he watched Captain Madakor stride up to Mace.  “Yes, Captain?”

Madakor gave the senior Councilor a sharp nod.  “Master Windu, there’s an incoming transmission for you and the other Jedi.  It’s coded, so I’m not sure who it’s from, but the origination point is somewhere in the Yinchorr system.”

Qui-Gon struggled to his feet, helping Micah up as he did so.  Mace gave them both a concerned look, but nodded.  “Send it to the briefing room.  We’ll take it there, Captain.”

Micah was gripping Qui-Gon’s arm with tight fingers.  “Do you think…” he trailed off, worry for his Padawan in every line of his body.  Now that they were not running for their lives, every waking moment consumed with the defense of others, worry for the other members of the Yinchorri mission was paramount.

“Let’s go find out,” Qui-Gon said, both of them following Adi and Mace away from the unfortunate wreck of their pilfered shuttle.

By the time they made it to the briefing room of the _Starlight_ , Eeth Koth and Saesee Tiin had joined them, as had Dama Ro, Lilit Twoseas, and Padawan K’Kruhk.  Even Piell was in the infirmary, they learned, literally sitting on Plo Koon to make sure the other Councilor allowed himself the time to heal after a collision had thrown him against a bulkhead.Mace was frowning down at the controls, glancing up on occasion at the static that filled the emitter field. 

“Huh.  I’ll be damned,” Mace said, typing a response for the encryption.  “I haven’t even finished _writing_ this code yet,” he muttered under his breath.

The static didn’t clear up entirely, but the holographic matrix resolved into the form of Obi-Wan, visible from the waist up.  He was staring down at the console instead of at them, forehead furrowed as he gave something on his end of the communication a glare.  “Wait,” he said, holding up one finger.  “No audio on this end.”

“Hell, I can fix that,” a female voice answered, and the projection jumped in time to the sound of a loud _thump_.

Obi-Wan looked up, smiling at someone out of pick-up range.  Qui-Gon frowned; even through the monochrome blue of the emitter, Obi-Wan’s nose and cheeks were darkened by bruising, and his nose looked swollen.  “You won’t believe how often that works.”

“Sure I would,” Micah replied first, grinning.  “Where’s my Padawan, Kenobi?”

“Here, Master!” There was the sound of quick steps, followed by Garen shoving his way in front of the visual receiver.  If Obi-Wan’s face had been marred, Garen looked like he’d been splattered with large globs of ink.  “Hello!”

Micah raised an eyebrow.  “Padawan, what the hell happened to you?”

Garen grinned, and there was a noticeable blank where one of his lower front teeth was half-gone.  “I got the _crap_ beaten out of me.”

Micah opened his mouth, hesitated, and looked at Qui-Gon, completely at a loss.  _Don’t look at me!_ Qui-Gon sent back.  _None of my Padawans were into pain._

_Force as my witness, I am now out of my depth._

Mace crossed his arms and leveled a stare at Obi-Wan.  “I take it things are not going so well on your end, either.”

“Not so much, no,” Obi-Wan replied, turning serious.  “We got lucky and found the impetus for the Yinchorri’s actions—a smuggler, Vilmarh Grahrk, used his cousin Olmar to initiate an alliance with the Yinchorri Council of Elders.  He then used that influence to push for Yinchorri dominance of the region, knowing that he would get the first stake in any and all shipping contracts that resulted.”

Adi looked like she couldn’t decide whether to roll her eyes or bury her face in her hands.  “Let me get this straight,” she said.  “This entire war is being fought over smuggling rights?”

“At first, yes.  But the day after we arrived, the Yinchorri decided to call off the deal and went after all of Vilmarh Grahrk’s people.  He doesn’t have much of a smuggling ring left to work with.  As far as we know, only he and his second in command escaped Yinchorr.  The only surviving smugglers on the planet are with us—a pilot, Grahrk’s third in command, and the crew mechanic.”

“I have new intel to update the databanks with, Masters,” Garen chimed in.  “The second moon of Yinchorr is no longer a smuggler’s haven.  In fact, there’s not much left of it at all.  Also, Masters, I hope Judicial wasn’t too attached to that shuttle they loaned us, because it left a nice trail of parts behind it when I crashed the thing.”

“Don’t feel too bad, Padawan,” Dama Ro said, smirking in Micah’s direction.  “Once Judicial discovers that your Master crashed one of their cruisers, no one will worry about your shuttle.”

“Hey!” Micah protested.  “I had nothing to do with the _Alliance_.  That was all on Williams.  However, I take full credit for the shuttle we borrowed.”

“Well, now we know where all of Garen Muln’s bad Knighthood habits will come from,” Lilit murmured under her breath.  Qui-Gon had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.  He must still be heady from the oxygen; his control was normally far better than this.

“It’s good to see you mostly intact, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan glanced over at him.  “I do believe I’ve told you that it’s unwise to follow in my footsteps in certain regards.”

There was a moment of bafflement before understanding dawned in Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he fingered the bridge of his nose, grimacing.  “Looks worse than it is.  Keep forgetting to heal it.”  Then he narrowed his eyes, taking in the bandages that were visible through the tear in Qui-Gon’s tunic.  “Is that from a stabilizer bar?”  When Qui-Gon nodded, Obi-Wan blew out a sigh, shoving his hands through his hair.  “Bloody hell.  I thought that was a dream.”

Qui-Gon noticed the others give him curious looks, feeling off-center.  “I thought it was a dream, too.”  There was no way the pairbond had facilitated that sort of communication.  It wasn’t that kind of bond—it simply should not have functioned that way.  “Though the timing was excellent, so I am not complaining.”

“Right,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head.  “Later for that, then,” he said, and began telling them, in order, what had befallen him and Garen on Yinchorr.  At one point Micah looked like he was going to spit nails when he heard about Garen’s capture and subsequent beating at the hands of the Yinchorri.  That quickly turned to an expression of pride when Micah discovered how well Garen had handled himself, the lives he had attempted to save, and how useful he was proving himself to be when not confining himself to the cockpit of a ship.  For himself, Qui-Gon was pleased with how resourceful Obi-Wan was being, trapped as he was behind enemy lines on a hostile planet with a group to look after. 

“We’re hiding out in the sub-basement of an inn that Eve Koh and Grrranth knew about,” Obi-Wan was saying.  “The upper sections are almost all damaged and looted, but the lockout on this level held until I used a lightsaber on it. We’ve got supplies and running water that will last a while, and there’s a good chance the Yinchorri will ignore this place.  I don’t think they will expect us to hide right in the capital.”

Then it was their turn, with Mace, Adi, Saesee Tiin, Qui-Gon, and Micah filling in what had happened on their side of the offensive.  The loss of the _Acceptance_ was one thing, but Qui-Gon was surprised to hear about the _Trident Moon’s_ near-derelict status.  With the _Acceptance_ gone, it had taken on the brunt of the Yinchorri forces during the last attack.  They were down three more of the armored shuttles, and the three remaining cruisers were undergoing extensive repairs even as they spoke.  They had lost none of their own people, but the Judicial Forces were down several crewmembers, and many more were injured.  “We’ve got ten cruisers with full fighter complements coming in,” Mace said, “so we can hold off awhile longer, but we’re facing off against at least twenty-six capital ships.”

“Thirty-one,” Obi-Wan corrected him, grim.  “We’ve noticed at least five in orbit above Yinchorr.  If they’re guarding their home system, it might be safe to assume that there are ships in orbit above Yitheeth and Yibikkoror as well.  If there are five here…”

“Then there might well be fifteen ships in the Yinchorr system alone,” Eeth finished, his mouth settling into a hard line. 

“Forty-one capital ships,” K’Kruhk whispered, his hand reaching out to grip his Master’s.  “I’ve never seen a fleet so large.”  Qui-Gon wanted to voice his agreement but did not, thinking that it would add to the current level of anxiety.  Only the fleet the Hapan Cluster maintained came close to matching what the Yinchorri had assembled.  Judicial’s fleet was larger, but most of Judicial’s ships were not armed and were therefore nigh useless against this sort of firepower.  Qui-Gon found himself wondering, for the first time, when the Republic had decided that disarming its police force was a good idea.

“This was well-planned,” Saesee mused at last.  “It was no easy task to keep this many capital ships hidden from view and from rumor.”

“Even if we clear out the twenty-six ships we’re already dealing with, the backup isn’t going to be enough,” Adi said, planting her hands on her hips as she looked over at Mace.  “There could be more Yinchorri ships hidden away.  We need to call in the Temple reserves.”

“Agreed,” said Eeth Koth.  “How soon could we expect them?”

“Considering how many of our pilots are already out in the field?” Mace shook his head.  “Not soon enough.”

“We’ll see what we can do about the five sitting over our heads,” Obi-Wan said.  “Our options are limited, but we may be able to come up with something.”  He gave Qui-Gon a wry smile.  “I never thought that I would miss…”  He trailed off, his expression going slack.

For a moment, Obi-Wan just stared at nothing.  Even at this distance, Qui-Gon could almost _feel_ mental gears turning.  He’d seen Obi-Wan in moments like this before.  The usual result could typically be summed up as sheer brilliance.  “Obi-Wan?”

“Miss _what_?” Lilit Twoseas snapped, her patience thinned by days of fighting.

Obi-Wan focused on her, a tiny, radiant smile forming on his face.  “The military,” he said, his eyes lighting up in almost manic delight. 

“Kenobi, would you mind enlightening the rest of us?” Mace asked.

Obi-Wan was already off again, mentally, and he reached up to something they couldn’t see.  “Call you back,” was his only response, before the emitter returned to broadcasting static.

“Of all the—” Mace rounded on Qui-Gon.  “This is _your_ fault.  He was your Padawan, and he has taken all of your maddening quirks and raised them to an art form.”

Qui-Gon found an answering smile of his own on his lips.  He wasn’t sure, but he had an inkling about what Obi-Wan might be up to.  “Thank you.”

Mace threw up his hands.  “Whatever it is, I hope he does it fast.  We’re going to see another round with the Yinchorri before this day is over.”

“Wait.”

Mace turned back to find Adi standing there, eyes closed.  “What is it?”

“Having an idea of my own, Master Windu,” she said, and when she opened her eyes, she was smiling.  “If we try to actively go up against the Yinchorri again, we’re likely to lose the ships we’ve got left.  Forget that.  I say we get the Yinchorri to chase us.”

Saesee frowned, though Micah had an interested gleam in his eyes.  “That could prove difficult.  So far they have not been willing to leave the planets they are trying to raze.”

“Then we need to make them want to seek us out.  It would be even better if we can give the impression that we’ll make an easy target,” Adi insisted.

Eeth snorted.  “That, Master Gallia, will not be difficult.”

Lilit’s Padawan chuckled.  “We could always just open the comms and shout insults about their parentage, Masters.”

They all turned and looked at him, and K’Kruhk did not seem comfortable being the sudden focus of so many Masters at once.  “You know, that’s a really good idea,” Micah said at last, and K’Kruhk blinked a few times and managed to smile back.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but my epithets are not so threatening,” Eeth said.  “Do you have anyone in mind?”

Adi nodded and looked at Mace.

Mace glared back.  “Adi, no.  I really, really prefer not to.”  When she kept staring, he sighed.  “Dammit.  Fine.”

“Yes, well, if Kenobi was here, we’d make him do it.  That boy has a _mouth_ on him,” Adi said, grinning.  “You’re the next in line for foul language, Mace.  You know more Huttese than the rest of us, and I know you can swear.  You used to turn the airwaves blue when we were younger.”

“A lot of that was Xan’s impetus,” Mace muttered.

“Xan just wanted to sleep with you,” Adi retorted, softening it with a smile.

“No, he did not,” Mace said, giving in and shaking his head.  “Believe me, I offered.”

It took Qui-Gon a moment to realize that he was listening to his friends speak of his Fallen Padawan…and he wasn’t trying to get away, to evade their words.  (He really didn’t want to hear details about who Xanatos had tried to bed among his agemates, though.)  _So this is what healing feels like,_ he thought, and the ghost of melancholy touched him.

“Enough, people,” Micah said, glancing at Qui-Gon.  He nodded in return, grateful for his oldest friend’s intervention.  “We have a bunch of pirates to taunt.”

 

*    *    *    *

           

When Obi-Wan explained his idea to the others, it was Grrranth who stated the obvious.  [That’s crazy,] he said.  [Do you have any idea how absolutely crazy that is?]

“I notice you’re not saying it’s impossible,” Obi-Wan pointed out, and Garen smiled.

The Wookiee threw up his hands and muttered something unintelligible before stalking off.  Thol, meanwhile, had a thoughtful expression on his face.  “I’ll go with you,” he said.  “I am by no means altruistic,” he hurried to say, when Eve gave him a surprised look.  “But I am no fool, either.  The Yinchorri are going to make it harder for us to earn a living, not easier.  They already stomped out Villie’s operation.  What’s to say they won’t do that to all of us?  The Republic might not like us, but at least they tolerate our existence.”

“I’m in,” Garen said.  “Though I’d be happier if I had my lightsaber.”

Obi-Wan gave Garen’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, while Thol looked at Garen, amused.  “What’s the matter, Kid.  Can’t fire a blaster?”

“None of us leave the Temple without learning to fire a blaster,” Garen replied.  He’d lost count of the number of times he and Master Micah had encountered that attitude, and it wasn’t worth getting insulted over.  “I suppose I agree with my Master.  Anyone can use a blaster to kill at a distance.  It’s another thing entirely to kill people when you’re forced to stare them in the face.”

Thol frowned, then nodded.  “Understandable.  My apologies, Padawan Muln.  I stand corrected, and educated.”

“No offense taken, Thol Heeniir.”

Eve sighed.  “Hutt’s balls.  I’ll go, too.  It sounds better than sitting here, doing nothing, hoping I don’t discover Yinchorri in the hallway.  Besides, I’m a better shot than Thol.”

“Prove it, young wench,” Thol said, offering her a challenging smile.

“Any day, any time,” Eve retorted, grinning.

Grrranth rejoined them, the bowcaster he’d recovered from the docking bay resting casually in his arms.  [Hell with it,] he said.  [I did say I wanted to rip some Yinchorri arms off.  If I don’t do this, I may never get the chance.]

Obi-Wan nodded, smiling at the Wookiee’s declaration.  It was only Garen who noticed that the smile did not quite reach Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

Garen glanced away, uncomfortable, and noticed the unhappy look Eve was sporting.  “Well, volunteering to die aside,” she said, leaning forward.  “We don’t exactly know where to look.”

“I know of one place to check,” Obi-Wan said, and that strange gleam was back in his eyes.  Garen wasn’t sure yet if he liked that look, or if it was one of the scariest fucking expressions that he’d ever seen.  “If that doesn’t pan out, I have another idea.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

“Anything?” Obi-Wan asked, his comm newly attuned to the frequency that matched the one Garen had acquired.

“Nu-uh,” Garen replied, wind and static distorting his voice.  “This place is dead, Obi-Wan.  If they were here, they left a while ago.  I don’t blame them.  It’s not the most well-guarded place to be if you’re trying to run a war.”

“All right,” he said, exchanging glances with Eve, who had shadowed her features with a cloak in case anyone recognized her as Villie’s Third.  Between the lack of shaving and grooming, it was doubtful anyone would recognize him, or have use for Obi-Wan for anything other than a possible mugging.  “Get back to the inn.  We’ll see you soon.”

“Take care,” Garen said, and there was a soft click as the connection closed.

Obi-Wan smiled at Eve.  Despite her status as a Third in a successful smuggling operation, she still looked nervous.  “Relax.  They don’t bite unless you pay them to.”

Eve nodded, though she didn’t look convinced.  “Do you really think you’ll find someone in that cantina willing to work for a Jedi?”

He snorted, pulling up his coat collar against the evening chill.  “Eve, pay them enough and they’ll work for anybody, no questions asked.”  He stepped down into the cantina, and it was almost as dark inside as it was outside. 

Obi-Wan let his eyes adjust, scanning the crowd while making a pretense at dusting the sand from his coat.  Trolling for bounty hunters was a dangerous pastime, and it never hurt to be cautious.

When his eyes lit upon one particular individual, he almost froze mid-motion.

The Force did like its little jokes.

 

*    *    *    *

 

The cantina was noisy and dark, just the way he liked it.  He leaned back in the booth, positioned for easy access to at least three weapons, if need be, and enjoyed the chaos.

He looked up as a ginger-haired kid that was far too pretty for Tol Kashorn slid into the booth across from him.  This one was scruffier than he was used to seeing, but that, coupled with a very lithe form and easy grace of movement, just added to the potential attraction.  Too bad he’d chosen the wrong customer. 

“I’m not looking for that sort of company,” he said, his tone harsh.  There were too many damned whores in this town.

“You’re Jango Fett,” the kid said, his voice softer than Fett had expected.  The bounty hunter re-evaluated the situation and realized that there was danger lurking in those cool gray eyes, and the coat he was wearing was designed for ease of movement.  Fighter, this one.  Pretty, yes, but no prostitute.

Damn it all.  It’d been a long time since he’d misread someone so badly.

 _Ah, what the hell._   Fett didn’t have anything better to do at the moment—might as well find out what was going on.  He could always drop a body in the nearest alley, if it came down to that. 

“Not a lot of folks recognize me without the helmet,” he said, giving the kid a hard stare.  “Most of those that do, they don’t live that long.”

The kid gave him a brittle smile.  “I know.  You’ve quite the reputation, and an honorable one.”

Fett frowned and glanced down at the kid’s hands, where he’d left them resting casually on the table-top, one of the more common signals for wanting conversation without gunfire.  _Fuck-all,_ he wanted to snarl.  He knew those calluses.  The little bastard was a Jedi, and if the lack of braid was any indication, he was a Knight.  He’d never seen one this young, but Fett knew well enough that looks could be deceiving. 

“I’ve done nothing that warrants the attention of the Jedi Order, boy,” he growled, wondering if he needed to go for the hold-out blaster hidden in his sleeve.  “All of my work is free and clear, legal under the guidelines of the Guild.”

The Jedi looked back at Jango, tilting his head.  “I don’t give a damn about any of that.  I’m speaking to you because I want to hire you.”

Fett narrowed his eyes, frowning.  “I didn’t think the Jedi trafficked with the likes of us.”

“You’d be surprised at the paths the Force leads us down,” he replied, an unexpected amount of cynicism in his voice.  “There is no exchange of credit involved, but if you’re not otherwise engaged, I’m willing to offer you a deal that will gain you a certain percentage of recovered Yinchorri weaponry and supplies, enough to represent a ten percent increase over your normal fee.”

“You don’t have the authority to make that kind of arrangement,” Fett said, though in truth he was thinking about it.  So far, his time on Yinchorr had been a waste, and Guild work had been slow of late.  If the Jedi were involved, the Yinchorri were going down.  It might take awhile, but the Republic wasn’t going to ignore the uprising of the scaly bastards, not while they were strafing planets that were worth money. 

“This place is a warzone.  I wouldn’t work for anything less than what you’ve mentioned, plus a bit of access to one of the ships from the Golden Nyss, should you manage to get them back.”

The Jedi grinned.  “You mean we look the other way while you make one of those vessels conveniently disappear.”  He was quiet for a moment.  “Being as I’m the ranking Jedi on Yinchorr right now, I _do_ have the authority to make this kind of arrangement.” 

He eyed Fett, and there was something shining in his eyes that Jango wasn’t used to seeing from a Jedi:  Respect.  “I need you to find some people for me, maybe run a little interference on the side.  Do this, on my terms, and I will hand you the security codes for one of the ships myself.  There is just one further condition.”

“And what condition is that?” Fett asked.  There had to be a catch to all of this.  The catch was probably the job; if it was something the Jedi was willing to hire out for, it was bound to be difficult.

“When you sell the ship for the proceeds, you make sure it goes legitimate, or close to it, at least.  I don’t want to encounter a Golden Nyss vessel one day in the hands of pirates or slavers.  Or the Hutts, for that matter.”

Fett’s mouth twisted in a sour grin.  Those were his best chances at a quick, clean sale at high value, and the kid probably knew it.  Still, there were other options, and whatever profit he could pull in would be untouchable by the Guild.  “What’s the job?”

Fett listened, at one point nodding in appreciation of the Jedi’s sense of strategy.  Later, when Fett discovered that the kid was the _only_ ranking Jedi on Yinchorr, he couldn’t decide whether to swear, laugh, or admire the sheer gall of it.  Obi-Wan Kenobi thought like a Mandalore.  Jango Fett approved.

 

*    *    *    *

 

It took three phrases in Korun and two choice words in Huttese to get the Yinchorri’s attention.  One of their captains replied to the Huttese with a suggestion that made Adi’s ears burn, but to her delight, Mace growled back a response that was both crude and physically impossible.

She’d loved the man since she’d watched Mace stumble through Xanatos’s devilish flirtation with him.  One day she was going to figure out what it took to actually get the stubborn Haruun Kal to accept her affection.  With any luck, it wouldn’t take another three decades.  Force as her witness, she didn’t want to wind up in the position Tahl had found herself in with Micah Giett.  Mace Windu wasn’t oblivious, at least.  Just intractable.

“I’ll be damned.  They’re turning this way!” Dama Ro cackled, interrupting her thoughts.

“Great.  Now we get to run for our lives,” Theen Fida commented from his station at navigation.  His head crest was heavily bandaged, but otherwise the Padawan had recovered from his injuries on Amador.  “I suggest we go now, Masters.”

“Not yet,” Micah’s voice crackled through the comm.  “They’re not firing at us.  We’re not leaving until we know they’ve taken the bait.”

Captain Madakor shrugged.  “Try insulting their mothers?”

“Hmm.”  Mace looked thoughtful.  “Adi, what was it that Xanatos used to say about Master Duaarr?”

Adi forced down a laugh.  “While amusing, I don’t think, ‘You’ve got a nice ass’ is going to make them angry.”

“No, not that one.”  Mace paused, then uttered a phrase in Huttese that she’d never heard, or if she had, she’d buried it.  Adi didn’t know what it meant, but it had the desired effect.  The Yinchorri began firing on their ship.

“Now we disengage.  Captain!” Mace ordered, and Madakor grinned as she brought the _Radiant VII_ about. 

“Hang onto your asses, folks,” she said, pulling back on the throttle.  The sublights responded, and they leapt forward, sweeping around in a wide arc and dodging blasts from the quickly approaching Yinchorri ships. 

 

*    *    *    *

 

“What is that place?” Garen asked, pushing his hair back from his eyes as the wind gusted across the stone plateau they stood upon.

Fett, armored but sans helmet, pointed at a large, flat building.  It was not a bunker, and looked nothing like a military base—which, Obi-Wan suspected, was the entire point.  As they had hidden in an unlikely place from the Yinchorri, the Council of Elders had hidden themselves away on a farm, far from the conflict they had begun. 

“That’s a _y’tineer_ ,” Fett said, and pointed out two buildings to the eastern side of the flat building.  “What the locals call a farm, though in some instances a _y’tineer_ also has religious significance.  There are two squads of Yinchorri guards stationed inside those outer buildings.  They stay out of sight, and they’re not wearing armor or uniforms.  They dress like the farmers they’re supposed to be, but I’ve never seen farmers that heavily armed.”

“Any other security?” Obi-Wan asked, as Eve and Grrranth took turns studying the _y’tineer_ through a pair of stolen macrobinoculars. 

“Nothing for the outside except a basic sensor sweep, though they’ve got a good vid-feed setup,” the bounty hunter responded, crossing his arms.  “It’s easy to get close, which makes me suspect that there is enough security hidden inside to fend off an army.”

[Are you sure that’s the place?] Grrranth rumbled, lowering the macrobinoculars.

Fett was quiet for a moment, translating for himself what the Wookiee had said.  “I’m sure, all right.  There’s a more obvious trail, I’ll admit, but it leads to Uhanayih.  Rumor has it that Yinchorri High Command is holed up there, and maybe that’s true.  But the orders for the Yinchorri fleet aren’t coming from Uhanayih.  There’s not enough comm traffic coming out of there, not for folks who’re running a war.  My guess is, the Council of Elders put a few members of High Command up there on a sacrificial platter, hoping you lot would take the bait.” 

 _They prepared for Jedi interference far more than they did the last time,_ Obi-Wan thought, for the diversion was a good one. 

“There were a lot of inconsistencies with the paperwork trail for this particular farm, also,” Fett continued.  “And if it’s a real farm, it’s not set up to make a profit.  See those moisture vaporators?” Fett pointed to several of the machines, visible as silvery points down below.

Obi-Wan did a quick count and shook his head.  Blast, but he should have noticed _that_.  Then again, if he’d searched for this place on his own, it could have taken weeks to uncover.  Fett had the means and the reputation to get information fast, which had been the entire point of hiring a bounty hunter in the first place.  “Enough vaporators to support the inhabitants, but nothing left over to sell,” he said, and Fett nodded.

“And that,” Fett said, pointing to the communications array set a short distance from the farm.  “It’s doing a damned good job of pretending to be just a simple signal dish, but there is enough hardware on that thing to detect traffic coming in from the edge of the Yinchorr system.  They’ve got their ears open, these folks.  Even if you can get in without being slaughtered by the Yinchorri squads, there are five ships in orbit.  They can call them down onto your heads before you make it to the front door.”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “So we don’t take the direct approach.  Take out the communications array.  Distract the capital ships, and make sure they’re too busy with other things to give this _y’tineer_ a hand.  Incapacitate the exterior squads.  Get inside, find the Council.”

“Well, that sounds easy,” Garen snorted in disbelief.  “Why don’t you just ask for a Tauntaun while you’re at it?”

“Because they smell,” Obi-Wan said, thinking about the number of bunkers he’d seen as they’d made the ride out to this particular farm.  If the squads there mobilized before they made it into the security of the _y’tineer_ , there would be trouble. 

Obi-Wan turned to Fett, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.  It made him remember another time that they had faced off, smiling and polite on Kamino, each of them knowing just what the other was up to.  He’d also had the disconcerting feeling that Jango Fett had been undressing him mentally.

Then they had gone out into the pouring rain and tried to beat the hell out of each other. 

Jango Fett had reason to hate Jedi, a good one, thanks to Master Dooku’s misread of the situation on Galidraan.  Obi-Wan didn’t believe that Dooku had done it intentionally, but his actions had once set the stage for massive interstellar conflict.  Fett was also a man who worked for money in order to survive.  Right at this moment, Obi-Wan could feel the other’s distrust—that Obi-Wan was just another Jedi using Jango to achieve an end, and that the payment he’d been promised would turn out to be a lie. 

Staring into those black eyes, Obi-Wan wondered if there was an ally to be found in the bounty hunter.  Or, at least, maybe enough mutual respect to build a relationship on that meant Obi-Wan wouldn’t risk getting killed anytime he and Fett were on the same planet.  It would be a nice change. 

“What ship are you flying now?”

“An AI-AT, Kuat Drive make,” Fett said, his eyes narrowing.  “You’re not flying my ship, Jedi.”

“Good, because you are,” Obi-Wan replied.  “Are you, by chance, carrying around any seismic charges?”  When Fett nodded, Obi-Wan smiled.  

Now they had a chance. 

           

*    *    *    *

 

Captain Madakor looked up at Adi Gallia and shook her head.  “It’s no good,” the petite woman said, glancing down at her readouts, which showed red-lining engines.  “I can’t get any more speed out of this bucket of bolts, and our shields are starting to go.”

“It’s all right.  Five more seconds!” Adi told her, willing the shields to hold just a moment longer.  Mace was co-piloting, shutting off alarms before they could deafen them, and trying his best to help Madakor keep the ship flying.  “Whatever you said to them, Mace, it really pissed them off.”

He flashed her a rare grin.  “Don’t ever ask me what I said.  Your parents would flay me alive, Jedi Master or not.”

“You have an entirely irrational fear of my family, Master Windu,” Adi replied, catching herself on his chair when another blast rocked the ship. 

“Oh?”  Mace diverted another fraction of power from weaponry to shields, and they both hoped the power core wouldn’t critical out from the demand.  “Is that why you decline to visit Corellia whenever you can get away with it?”

She scowled at him.  “You and your inconvenient recollection of my schedule.”

Theen Fida yelled over the roar of battle, “They’re coming, Masters!  Counting down from five!”

“Get ready, Captain!” Mace snapped.  “Remember:  Do not alter course, no matter what you see!”

“Three!”

Madakor gave him a worried look.  “Some days I hate flying with you people.”

“One!” Theen Fida yelled, and in that moment ten Judicial cruisers dropped out of hyperspace, their hangars spilling out fighters as they came.

“Oh, holy _fuck_!” Madakor whimpered, her face ashen, as the fighters and cruisers streamed past her ship.  One of the cruisers was literally in spitting distance, sailing past with their communications arrays just missing each other.  The maneuver had been arranged in advance, with Saesee Tiin relaying their heading and position, updating it every time the Yinchorri had forced them to alter course. 

The result was spectacular.  They all watched on the sensors as the eight capital ships that had pursued them from Dorin broke ranks, trying to turn away from the fleet that had just dropped in almost on top of them. 

The comm crackled, but the signal came from one of the new ships.  “Greetings, Masters.  I do hope our timing was satisfactory.”

Adi grinned; Mace looked delighted.  “Padawan!” he said, toggling the comm to reply.  “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Eh, the dear troll decided it would be a nice surprise,” Knight Echuu Shen-Jon replied, wry lilt to his voice.  “Excuse me, Master.  I’ll be coordinating our forces on this side so we can deal with the parasites that are hounding you.”

“Glad to hear it.  We’re going to limp out of the way.  The _Radiant VII’s_ had all the fight she can handle for now.”

“I’ll clear them off,” a new voice added.  “I have some friends with me who have brand-new fighters to break in.”  Adi and Mace glanced at each other in surprise as they recognized Quinlan Vos.  His presence was even more unexpected than Shen-Jon’s, which made Adi curious as to what potential Yoda had seen in the young Knight during the Temple attack. 

“You heard Knight Vos,” Shen-Jon said.  “Clear off these parasites, and disable those ships!”

 

*    *    *    *

 

“You look nervous,” Obi-Wan said, adjusting the armor Garen was wearing while the other stood stock-still, chewing on his lower lip.

“I _am_ nervous,” Garen admitted, shifting around experimentally after Obi-Wan signaled that he was done.  The armor had been borrowed from a Yinchorri detachment they’d run into the previous day.  It was meant for a species much bigger than the standard human, but Garen could wear it without too much trouble.  Obi-Wan had insisted that at least one of them needed to be blast-proof.  “How can you not be nervous?”

Obi-Wan stood up, adjusting the gauntlets he’d cut down to size, placed over leather padding to keep the metal from biting into his skin.  If he had to deflect any more laser blasts, he wanted to do it without getting covered in burns.  The Cortosis he’d added in hopes that it was a precaution and not a necessity.  “I’ve done this a lot.”

Garen glanced down at him.  “Remembering a war, huh?” he asked, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and apprehension.

Obi-Wan smiled.  “Everything’s going to be fine, Garen.”

He shook his head.  “Do you really think so?”

“Well, it is better to think that than to run into battle chanting ‘I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die,’” Obi-Wan pointed out.

Garen sputtered a surprised laugh.  “Yes, all right, so I was just thinking that.  Besides, there are worse things that could happen.  We could be captured and executed.  We could get blown up.”  He paused.  “We’re not going to wind up executed, are we?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.  “I really hope not.”

“Yeah.  Me, too,” Garen said, watching as Obi-Wan holstered an extra blaster rifle into a sling on their speeder bike.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” Obi-Wan couldn’t resist saying.

“Smart ass,” Garen shot back.  “You’re…Force, Obi-Wan, you are _good_ at this.  I think if Eve, Grrranth, Thol, and I weren’t here, you’d still manage to pull something like this off, and in record time.  You could be out there earning a hell of a name for yourself.  Why stay paired up with your ex-Master?”

Obi-Wan sat down on the bike, resting his feet on the stabilizer bar so he could plant his elbows on his knees.  “Necessity, at first,” he said, trying to find the right words.  “After the necessity passed…well.”  He smiled again.  “I’m where I want to be.”

Garen frowned, quiet for a moment.  Then his eyes lit up.  “Oh!  You mean…right!  Well, that’s awesome.  He’s not quite my type, but, you know…”

“Your type is Dressellian,” Obi-Wan teased.

Garen choked and offered Obi-Wan a half-hearted glare.  “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”  They stood there for a few minutes, not speaking, just existing together.  The Force gave them that, and the pairbond amplified it, gave them the means to share in each other’s feelings before walking into chaos.

He wasn’t filtering as much at the moment, so it was no surprise Garen noticed one frustrated thought.  His friend narrowed his eyes.  “He doesn’t know, does he?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “He hasn’t noticed, no.”

“Well, crap.”  Garen walked over, took Obi-Wan’s hand, and said in his most serious tone:  “Is he fucking _blind?_ ”

He smiled, and even to him it felt forced.  “Garen, he’s involved with someone else.  I’m not all that interested in breaking up relationships.”

To his surprise, Garen laughed.  “Oh, hell no.  Master Tahl and Master Qui-Gon might be dabbling, but there’s never going to be a relationship between them, not as long as Master Micah’s alive.”

Obi-Wan stared at Garen, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut and thrown from a cliff.  Garen noticed immediately, grabbing Obi-Wan’s shoulders.  “Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes huge and worried. 

_I had asked Tahl to bond with me._

_She said no._

Oxygen came back, along with an understanding of certain events that he had never had before.  He sighed, dropped his head against Garen’s chest, and took a moment to put his world back in order.  It explained so much, though it didn’t detract from the horror of what he’d once lived through.  “She loves Micah?”

“Yeah.  Bant told me one night, when we were gossiping about sex, relationships, and who was doing what to whom.  Tahl doesn’t really talk about it, but Bant says that she’s been in love with Master Micah since they were kids.  He just doesn’t notice.” 

Two oblivious Jedi Masters.  Obi-Wan couldn’t resist a watery chuckle.  No wonder Qui-Gon and Micah matched each other so well.

“Hey, if you two are going to make out, can I at least watch?”

Obi-Wan lifted his head and looked over to find Eve, Thol, and Grrranth standing there, armed and ready for battle.  They were also wearing near-identical smirks.  “No, Eve, you don’t get to watch.  Participate, maybe.”

“You’re a tease,” Eve retorted, but she was grinning.  Between Thol and Obi-Wan, they’d manage to carve a set of Yinchorri Cortosis armor down to size, and she was wearing enough to protect vital areas.  Thol and Grrranth had elected to go without.  “Are you two ready to go?”

Obi-Wan looked up at Garen, who drew in a deep breath and touched the Force, settling his jangled nerves.  “Ready,” Garen said. 

Thol nodded.  “The charges are set.” 

Obi-Wan thumbed on his commlink, opening a channel to the other member of their impromptu strike force.  “Ready?”

From his docking bay in Tol Kashorn, Jango Fett replied.  “ _Jaster’s Legacy_ is ready to launch, Kenobi.  Make the call.”

Obi-Wan reached out to the Force to calm himself.  He _was_ nervous, even if he’d hidden it to allay Garen’s unease.  So many things could go wrong. 

 _No,_ he thought, resolute.  _No one dies today._   “Launch.”

“Clearing the bay doors now,” Fett replied.  “Counting down from five minutes.”

“Acknowledged.”  Obi-Wan shut down his comm.  There were days when he adored Mandalorian professionalism.  “Let’s go.”

They mounted their bikes—Garen and Eve on one bike, Obi-Wan and Grrranth on the last two.  “Good luck,” Thol said, holding up a handful of controllers.  “May the Force be with you all.”

“And you,” Obi-Wan said, while Garen offered the Firrerreo a wide grin.  He kicked the bike’s accelerator, lurching forward.  Garen took up the left wing position.  Grrranth settled into place at his right.  Together they dropped over the edge of the stone plateau, the whine of the bikes increasing as they raced towards the Yinchorri Council’s hiding place.  As they approached, a plume of orange flame rose up, signaling the death of the _y’tineer’s_ communications array. 

 

*    *    *    *

 

It would have been so much easier if Kenobi had given Fett permission to just annihilate the Yinchorri ships in orbit.  Still, there was a certain amount of skill needed to do what he’d been asked, and Fett liked a challenge. 

The navicomp was pre-programmed for each jump, adjusted for each capital ship’s position in orbit.  He left the gravity well and made the first jump, coming out of hyperspace a moment later with the first ship in view.  It was dangerous, jumping this close to orbital range of a planet, but the _Jaster’s Legacy_ could handle the stress.  His old teacher’s ship had done harsher things.

“Hello, you scaly bastards,” he murmured, launching the first seismic charge.  It sailed through space towards the ship, innocuous, until the timer counted down to zero.  Then it blew apart in spectacular fashion, and a wave of blue energy stretched out along a specific plane in space.  It struck the Yinchorri ship before they could begin evasive maneuvers, pounding into the hull.

He watched the ship go dark, smiling in satisfaction.  That was why he never wanted to find himself stationed aboard a large ship.  His nimble old girl evaded the blast with ease, and he made the mini-jump to the next orbiting Yinchorri cruiser. 

 

*    *    *    *

 

He had it calculated down to the second.  By the time his commlink chirped, letting Obi-Wan know the last ship in orbit had been disabled, they had ditched the bikes and were hiding next to the gate at the front of the _y’tineer_ compound.  The squads stationed outside had already roused themselves, and only a few guards had remained behind, standing watch in front of their bunk houses and the _y’tineer’s_ door.  As Fett had said, none of them were armored.  That struck Obi-Wan as foolhardy.  Were he in their place, he would have assumed an attack and made the troops dress appropriately. 

The other guards were now outside the compound, intent on finding out why their array had exploded.  The smoldering remains were a fair distance from the _y’tineer_ , and that left Obi-Wan’s team with the perfect opportunity to act.

While Obi-Wan pointed out each shot, Eve took out the external security cameras and the power for the sensor grid.  “I told Thol I could outshoot him,” she said with a smug grin.

[Yes, but he’s the one who gets to blow everything up.  Technically, you’re still losing,] Grrranth rumbled.

“Fuck off, you giant stuffed Wookiee,” Eve retorted after Obi-Wan translated for her.  Garen and Grrranth took out the remaining guards with a few well-aimed shots.  The compound clear, they rushed inside, lining up on either side of the _y’tineer’s_ sealed door.

Garen took the opportunity to raise his own commlink.  “Thol, your turn again!” he said, thumbing it off and replacing it on his belt.  Then he stuffed his fingers in his ears, as Eve and Grrranth were doing, just in time for the two guardhouses to explode.  Obi-Wan muffled the blast with the Force to protect his own ears, wincing as hot embers rained down on his exposed skin. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Eve hissed as they all pressed up against the wall to evade falling debris.

[You’re asking _now?_ ]

“You’d be surprised at how single-minded people can be,” Obi-Wan replied, then ducked back into place as the door released with a pneumatic hiss.  A squad of Yinchorri guards, fully armed and armored, came running out of the doorway, yelling at each other in their own language.  Obi-Wan caught bits and pieces of dismay, anger, and shock at the destruction.  More importantly, he sensed that there were no more Yinchorri joining this squad. 

“Now,” he whispered, and let the others precede him into the _y’tineer_ before ducking inside.

The control panel was glowing in the dim light inside, and he pulled open the front cover.  The security system was new, easy to use, one he’d seen a lot of in later years.  New technology wasn’t going to save them this time.  Obi-Wan gained access just as the first Yinchorri began to turn back in their direction, shouting out in recognition of the new threat. 

“Bye-bye!” Garen called, waving as the doors sealed.  “That went well.  Now what?”

“Now we find the Council of Elders, subdue them, and get them to surrender,” Obi-Wan replied, igniting his lightsaber as he began walking down the hall. 

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Garen said, taking up the standard Padawan position three steps behind him.  In this case it was the best position Garen could take to cover Obi-Wan’s back, but it made the hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck stand up anyway.  “How are we going to do that?”

“Not sure.  I’m still working on that part,” Obi-Wan said, grinning at the snort of amused laughter Garen responded with.  “Quiet, now, all of you.  We’ve got plenty of Yinchorri left to deal with, and they’re all going to do their best to stop us.  Don’t take any chances.  Shoot for the head.  Most of them aren’t wearing Cortosis up there.”

Behind him, Garen sighed but said nothing, knowing that the stakes were too high and the odds stacked against them.  Fighting to incapacitate would do them no good here, and likely get them killed. 

It was also possible that they were working against a clock.  Taking the Yinchorri fleet out ship by ship was doable, yes, but the other Jedi had been lucky so far.  Sooner or later, people were going to start dying.  Obi-Wan would do his best to make sure that didn’t happen.

They walked further into the complex, glancing around as they went.  While the outside might have been staged as a working moisture farm, the Yinchorri had never bothered to mask the true purpose of this _y’tineer_.  The halls were stark and empty, and rooms showed places where the Yinchorri slept, as well as weapons caches.  There were a few rooms that looked like cells, and other rooms were stacked high with supplies.  Obi-Wan kept sensing the presence of the other Yinchorri, but they came no closer.

At the end of the last junction was an open turbolift, fully lit, ready for passengers.  He stopped, waiting for the others to notice it. 

Garen stepped up beside him and glanced over at Obi-Wan, his blaster rifle pointing at the empty lift.  _We’re walking into a trap, aren’t we?_

 _Looks that way_ , he said.

 _What should we do?_ Garen asked, eyeing the turbolift suspiciously. 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  What else could they do?  The Force was telling him that they needed to go down to the next level, whispering in his ear about a knot of Yinchorri clustered together, waiting.  _Spring the trap._

 _That isn’t_ _a great plan,_ Garen complained.

_But it’s what we have.  Trust me, Garen.  This is the right path._

Garen smiled.  _I trust you.  But do we trust them?_ he said, meaning Eve and Grrranth.

Obi-Wan reached out for a moment, gripping Garen’s arm.  _Everyone gets the chance to make their own choices._  

His friend nodded in understanding.  _Like Davrin_. 

They entered the turbolift, which was a bit cramped with Grrranth’s presence, but Obi-Wan wasn’t comfortable with the idea of splitting up the group.  Likely they were under surveillance, though he hadn’t noticed any system access when locking the Yinchorri squad outside.  He wasn’t going to take the chance of leaving someone behind to become a potential target. 

The ride down was swift, and the door opened to reveal a long hallway.  At the end was an open door that spilled light out into the corridor.  He could hear the sound of hissed words within.  Yinchorri.

The turbolift closed behind them, and he heard the distinct hum of the lift rising back up.  “ _Now_ they’re coming,” Obi-Wan said, sensing numerous presences upstairs converging on the lift.  “Go!”

They bolted down the hall, he and Garen side by side, with Eve and Grrranth on their heels.  He raised his lightsaber as they entered the room, which was a large, open area that held a long table.  He saw movement and bisected a Yinchorri guard’s arm when he tried to raise his weapon in response. 

“Eve!” Obi-Wan yelled, but the smuggler was already at the control panel, sealing the doors and scrambling the lock.  Garen shot the second guard in the face, swearing as he did so.  The guard fell, and as one he and Obi-Wan turned and pointed their weapons at the Yinchorri Council of Elders.

They were seated in a line down one side of a long glass table.  Two of them rose, and Obi-Wan took in the blasters they carried, and noticed the tell-tale sign of plate armor hidden beneath their robes.  “I am Jorek, First Speaker of the Council of Elders.  You are intruding.”

Eve stepped close to Obi-Wan and muttered under her breath.  “These guys do _not_ look cowed by that lightsaber, Jedi.  I hope you’ve got something brilliant in mind.”

The second Yinchorri spoke.  “I am Sothek, Second Speaker.  We have been expecting you, _Jeedai_.”

“We thought you might be,” Obi-Wan said, exchanging a quick look with Garen.  Whatever was going to happen, it was close, so close.  He just couldn’t see _what_.  “You must know why we’re here, then.”

“Indeed,” said Jorek, and he looked behind Obi-Wan and gave one sharp nod of command.

Danger flared, and Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber, expecting a bowcaster blast.  He didn’t expect Grrranth to pick him up bodily from behind.  The Wookiee wrapped one arm around his ribs, crushing him and keeping him from drawing further breath.  In the next moment something snapped into place around his throat.

There was a second in between one heartbeat and the next, a stillness.  Then the bottom dropped out of his stomach and the world tilted on its axis.  His lightsaber dropped from nerveless fingers, and Obi-Wan screamed as the Force went away.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 _Sith-spawned son of a—!_   Garen whirled, his rifle raised, as Grrranth tackled Obi-Wan from behind, lifting him off of the floor with one massive arm.  Before he could react, Garen had to contend with Jorek and Sothek pointing blasters at him.  Eve lowered her rifle, staring at Grrranth in confusion.

Then the Wookiee snapped a black band into place around Obi-Wan’s throat.  Garen halted, shocked, as the pair-bond between them disappeared—and to his stunned horror, Obi-Wan screamed.

“What the _fuck_ did you do?” he roared at Grrranth, who dropped Obi-Wan to the ground with a surprised yowl.  Garen ran forward and slid to his knees, stopping at Obi-Wan’s side.  The Yinchorri and Eve were forgotten.  He touched his friend’s prone, now silent form, hoping the traitorous Wookiee bastard hadn’t just killed his dearest friend.   

Still alive, his senses told him, but he couldn’t find Obi-Wan in the Force, and his friend’s skin was ice to the touch.  With his heart hammering in his chest, Garen ran through a mental list from random moments when his Master and others had taught him first aid.  Shock.  This was shock.

[That wasn’t supposed to happen,] Grrranth rumbled, his bowcaster pointed at both of them.  [I have never heard of an inhibitor having that effect on a Jedi.]

“Grrranth, what the hell is going on?” Eve shouted.  Out of the corner of Garen’s eye, he noticed another Yinchorri Elder rise, pointing his weapon at her.  She spat a curse and tossed her rifle aside, crossing her arms and glaring at the Wookiee.

An inhibitor.  That explained why he couldn’t sense Obi-Wan in the Force.  Garen pulled an unresisting Obi-Wan out of the position he’d landed in, taking his friend’s face in his hands.  Obi-Wan’s eyes were shut tight, not relaxed, and his teeth were bared in a grimace of pain. No, not pain.  This was something else, something Garen had never encountered before.  “Hey, come on.  It’s me.  Talk to me.  I need you to speak to me, okay?”

Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath, and then another.  He did not speak, but raised his hand and latched onto Garen’s arm.  _Just need a minute,_ Garen heard, and he almost fell back on his ass in shock. 

His awareness of the pairbond came back with the words, but it was faint and faraway, not the steady presence he’d gotten used to.  _Don’t…fall over.  This is…difficult.  Oh, gods and fuck-all, I_ never _wanted to experience this again,_ Obi-Wan said, his voice so soft Garen had to focus to understand the words. 

 _You are subverting a fucking inhibitor!_ Garen replied, astonished, doing his best to keep his emotions from showing on his face.  _That’s not fucking possible!_

 _Is too,_ Obi-Wan replied, and there was enough flippant casualness in that remark that Garen’s heartbeat started to resume its natural rhythm.

“You will stand,” Sothek ordered. 

Obi-Wan didn’t reply, but there was a sense of compliance, and Garen helped him to his feet.  They stood together with Garen supporting Obi-Wan.  His friend was still breathing in sharp gasps, but he opened his eyes.  The gaze he turned upon the Yinchorri Council could have frozen a sun. 

“That was an interesting little setback,” he said, and though his words were mild, his voice was like harsh frost.  “I will give you one opportunity:  Surrender, or the consequences to your people will be dire.”

Garen raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  As far as he was concerned, Obi-Wan had just pulled a Bantha out of a Jawa’s ass.  If Obi-Wan thought there were dire consequences, then it was fucking _truth._   Eve, meanwhile, was looking at Obi-Wan as if he’d lost his mind.

Jorek began to laugh, the rest of the Council smiled, and there was an underlying air of satisfaction among them.  “You are helpless, _Jeedai_!  You seek to threaten us with what, exactly?”

Garen could feel Obi-Wan touching the Force, but his actions were thin, transient, and unreadable, and Garen had no blasted idea what his friend was up to.  “I dunno, guys.  I’d listen to him if I were you,” he said, starting to smile.  Whatever it was, it was bound to be fun.

Sothek’s smile vanished.  “There will be no surrender!” he shouted.  “You are our prisoners!  You will be ransomed back to your Republic in pieces, and we will destroy your fleet!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Obi-Wan said, and he stood up straighter, lifting his head as he stared at the Yinchorri Elder.  He held out his hand, palm up, and every blaster leapt out of Yinchorri hands and holsters, sailing across the room to land behind them.  “And don’t, Grrranth.  Don’t fire.”

The Wookiee snarled at him.  [Why, because you don’t think you can pull your fancy tricks on me, too?  Damned faulty inhibitor!]

“It’s not faulty,” Obi-Wan said, and this time Garen heard the undertone of strain in Obi-Wan’s voice.  “And inhibitors aren’t fool-proof.”

Eve stepped towards the Wookiee, biting her lip, her eyes shining with distress.  “Grrranth, talk to me.  What the hell are you doing?  The Yinchorri tried to kill us!”

“Grrranth betrayed Villie to the Yinchorri, Eve,” Obi-Wan said, his voice quiet.  “He’s the one who told the Council where Vilmarh Grahrk’s pilots spent their time, and where Vilmarh’s private ship was located.”

Eve’s eyes widened.  “What?  No!  That’s ridiculous!  Grrranth, put that damned bowcaster down and stop being an idiot!”

[You are a child,] Grrranth replied sharply.  [Villie was a fool who forgot to keep his people well-paid.  The Yinchorri Council gave me enough money to last a long, long time.]

“You walked off of the _Inferno_ because you knew that if you stayed, Vilmarh would find out,” Obi-Wan said, giving the Wookiee a piercing look. 

[Shut up,] Grrranth said.  [I’m sure the Council will be willing to pay me for dealing with you.]

“I mean it, Grrranth—don’t fire that weapon,” Obi-Wan ordered, and the moment the words left his lips, things happened all at once.

The doors that Eve had locked opened, disgorging a sudden influx of Yinchorri guards.  Obi-Wan called his lightsaber back to his hand, igniting the blade, and Garen gave a whoop of triumph as he noticed his own lightsaber attached to the belt of one of the incoming guards.  He gave a tremendous yank with the Force, calling the lightsaber to him and igniting the green blade as it smacked into his palm.  “Now we’re talking!” he yelled, wading into the melee.  He heard a blast, followed by a pain-filled roar and dismissed it, his attention focused on the Yinchorri who surrounded him.

The armor did its work well, absorbing the blasts that Garen didn’t need to block.  He came up short against a Yinchorri that towered over the others.  Garen’s first pass missed the armor joint and his lightsaber shorted out.  He swore viciously; the guard clubbed Garen across the shoulders, cracking the armor plate on his upper arm with the blow.  Then Obi-Wan was there, sailing over his head and driving his blade down through the Yinchorri’s collarbone.  The guard let out a shriek and tumbled back.  Garen nodded his thanks, grinning in relief to notice that the horrible black inhibitor collar was gone.

They wound up back to back, hacking at the Yinchorri.  Several shots took down the Yinchorri that Garen was fending off.  Eve ran through the space the guard had occupied, reaching the door panel and locking the room down once more.  Obi-Wan cut down the last straggler and turned around.  He was breathing heavily, and blood was flowing from a gash on his forehead, but his eyes were glittering with some emotion that Garen couldn’t name.  Triumph?  Success mingled with anger?

Garen shook his head as they faced the Council once more.  Some part of him wondered why the robed Yinchorri hadn’t joined in the fight, and then he remembered— _intelligentsia_.  The warrior class did the fighting.  The Council and others of the _intelligentsia_ class did the thinking.  Lazy gits.

Eve Koh joined them, tears streaming down her face.  Garen took a moment to glance over at the unmoving Wookiee laying a few feet away, smoke still rising from his fur.  _Not breathing.  Shit, no wonder Koh’s upset_.  They flanked Obi-Wan, who pointed his lightsaber at Jorek.  “Now, then,” he said, his voice pleasant.  “On to the aggressive negotiations.”

“Aggressive negotiations?” Garen fought a mad urge to laugh.  “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“A good friend came up with that term.  I always found it appropriate, since we’re negotiating with our lightsabers,” Obi-Wan replied, then addressed the Council again.  “I warned you that if you continued along this path, the consequences would be dire.  You are the Council of Elders of Yinchorr.  Do you not care anything about the fate of the Yinchorri?”

“Of course we care about the fate of the Yinchorri!” Jorek spat.  “That is why we chose this path.  For too long we have been docile, trapped under the banner of the Republic.  This is not who the Yinchorri people are!  We deserve better than to be treated like the errant children of a staggering parent!”

Another of the Elders rose from his seat.  “Our people have been coddled by technology, growing stagnant and weak.  We are warriors, _Jeedai_ , by virtue and by birth.”  He paused.  “I am Petak, Fourth Speaker.  I have always been told that the _Jeedai_ are the instruments of pacifism, but I saw nothing passive here today.  Tell me what dire future you see for our people, for I cannot see how our honor can be retained by surrendering to your fleet.”

“Silence, fool!  There will be no surrender!” Sothek shouted.

“Shut up, Speaker,” Petak snapped, his tail lashing the air.  “If the _Jeedai_ ’s words ring false, then we will fight, and die with our honor intact.  In the meantime, I wish to hear more!”

“As do I,” hissed the Yinchorri who’d drawn his blaster on Eve.  He was joined by two more members of the Council, which put Sothek and Jorek in the minority.

Jorek looked like he wanted to bite their heads off.  Literally.  “Speak,” he hissed grudgingly.

“You have, at most, fifty cruisers.  Am I correct?” Obi-Wan asked, glancing at the unnamed members of the Council.

“I am Kardek, Third Speaker,” the closer Yinchorri said, not bothering to stand.  “We have forty-five ships at our disposal.  We outnumber the pathetic number of ships your other _Jeedai_ have brought against us.  Our victory is assured.”

“For now,” Obi-Wan acknowledged.  “But not for long.  The Judicial Fleet does not get much attention, but when all of its ships come together, their fleet is four times the size of yours.  I am not including,” he continued, looking at each Council member in turn, “the ships of the Jedi.  Those are already on their way, sent from Coruscant, Dantooine, and Corellia.  Unlike many of the cruisers that belong to Judicial, all of our vessels are armed, and our pilots are skilled.”

“And if you’re thinking that Jedi pilots are useless without their ships, well, hi.  I’m a pilot of the Jedi Order,” Garen said cheerfully.  Sothek’s nostrils flared but he said nothing, though Kardek and Petak gave Garen an appraising look.

“Your ships are many, and your warriors are fierce, but soon you will be outnumbered,” Obi-Wan said.  “Even if it takes months, Judicial Forces and the Jedi will force you to retreat, to surrender.  Once the Republic at large learns of what you have done, the Senate will act.  Your planet will be placed under embargo, and sanctions will be carried out against you.”

Petak tilted his head.  “Those words are unfamiliar to us, _Jeedai_.  What does that mean for the Yinchorri?”

“Trade will be restricted to only the essentials your people need to survive.  No technology beyond what is needed for communication with your Council and the Republic.  No visitors will be allowed on your world.  Travel to and from Yinchorri will be restricted to diplomatic vessels only.  Your fleet will be taken from you.  Your warriors will be trapped on this planet with no one to fight but each other.  The technology that your people have grown accustomed to over the past few decades will be confiscated.”  Obi-Wan regarded the Council with dispassionate eyes. 

“Reparations will be demanded of the Yinchorri by relatives of those killed on Mayvitch 7, Amador, and any other planet you have attacked.  You will be made destitute, prisoners of your own homeworld.”  He offered the Yinchorri Council a hard smile.  “And the smugglers that you have used to collect the technology that you couldn’t acquire through legal means?  They would never return here.  Not only would you not have the means to pay them, but smugglers tend to avoid worlds that have permanent Judicial outposts.”

“Not to mention the Judicial blockade that would surround your system, just waiting for ships to try to jump it,” Eve added.  “Trust me, boys, I know this.  There are easier places to hole up, places without a Judicial presence to make our lives difficult.”

Kardek slammed his fist down on the table.  “Then we fight, and we will hold off your Republic for as long as we draw breath.  We will defend what we have taken, for by right it is ours!”

“You could do that,” Obi-Wan said, and surprised Garen by shutting down his lightsaber, hanging it on his belt.  Garen followed suit, curious but still willing to play along.  “Your people would suffer in the meantime, and you have no idea how long you could hold all of our forces at bay.  Or…”  He paused just long enough to make sure all eyes were upon him.  “There may be another option.”

           

*    *    *    *

 

Fire bloomed out from the _Trident Moon’s_ hull, the engines going critical under the constant bombardment from the Yinchorri cruisers.

“Well, there goes our decoy,” Micah said over the comm, blasting a Yinchorri fighter that came too close to the _Starlight_.  The _Trident Moon_ , unable to fight or move, scarcely able to maintain life support, had acted as a ready target for the Yinchorri, who had wasted time and energy to destroy a ship that was already on the verge of falling apart.

“Let’s hope she takes some of the fighters down with her,” Qui-Gon replied, watching over three different screens at once.  He looked up, visually confirming what the sensors were telling him, before speaking.  “Knight Shen-Jon, you have a cruiser trying to sneak in under your flank.”

“Thank you, Master Jinn,” Shen-Jon replied.  “You heard the man, pilots!  Target the sly ones from the port side of the Yinchorri vessel, we’ll take starboard!”

The fighters flocked to comply, tearing the hell out of the armored cruiser as they came.  Shen-Jon’s ship, the _Polysemy,_ fired the new turbolaser mounts it had been equipped with before leaving port.  The result was destructive, and left Qui-Gon heaving a sigh of relief as the Yinchorri cruiser began to lose speed, turning away from the _Polysemy_.   

“Well done,” Mace said, his voice filled with static as the Yinchorri tried to jam communications between the Republic ships.  “That’s three Yinchorri cruisers down, five to go.”

“They don’t look like they’re in the mood to retreat, do they?” Eeth noted, his shuttle flying tandem with the _Starlight_ for the moment. 

“No,” Saesee confirmed.  “I think they have reinforcements coming.”

“I hope they take awhile,” Even Piell said, “because our reinforcements are still a good two hours out.”

“We’ll worry about that problem when it happens,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head.  “ _Causality,_ watch yourselves.  You’ve got two wings of Yinchorri fighters and one of the cruisers coming for you from point nine.” 

“Acknowledged,” Dama Ro said, and altered course, turning the _Causality’s_ bulk to face the Yinchorri ships.  Qui-Gon watched, trying to pay attention to far too many variables and wishing his shoulder would damn well heal faster.  This was not his strength.

In the next moment, time paused.  He clenched the edge of the console, bending over, trying to breathe through the abrupt sense of intense _quiet_ that had just struck him.  Not silence of the cockpit, for it was loud, filled with the sound of unhappy sensors and Eeth’s grumbled swearing as he tried to get the _Starlight_ to obey him. 

The pairbond had been silenced.  Qui-Gon had only enough time to realize that the bond still existed, that no death had severed it, before he was choking on an overwhelming panic that was not his own.

“Qui-Gon!” Eeth yelled, then had to pull back up on the stick as the Yinchorri tried to push them into a faceoff with two cruisers.  “Micah, get up here!  Now!” he ordered, his quiet demeanor abandoned.

Qui-Gon was distantly aware of what was happening, but most of his attention was focused on the shock and horror crushing him.  Even with the pairbond stifled, the emotions were near terrifying in their clarity.  Obi-Wan.  Something was happening to his former Padawan, and it was bad enough that his partner’s almost constant serenity had shattered.

Then Micah was there, pulling him from the co-pilot’s chair and shoving him down in the empty navigator’s seat.  “Are you all right?” he said, touching Qui-Gon’s hands and trying to instill a buffer against the torrent of emotion.

 _Not me_ , he managed to reply, using Micah’s presence as a focal point, pushing back against the torrent of fright and the…the dread.  As if, whatever was going on, Obi-Wan had suffered it before. 

That realization was not the least bit reassuring.

“What’s wrong?” Micah asked, as Qui-Gon got his breathing back under control.  “Come on, talk to me here.  We’ve got to get someone back into the co-pilot’s station.  Eeth can’t do this alone.”

“Oh, for—People, look sharp.  New additions to the Yinchorri fleet are dropping out of hyperspace,” Lilit Twoseas announced.  “They’ve just taken the odds and stacked them against us.  Twelve ships and still counting the incoming!”

“All Republic ships, this is Knight Shen-Jon.  You will form up on the _Polysemy_.  We’ll know soon enough if we’re making a stand or performing as strategic retreat.”

“Got anything in mind, Padawan?” Mace asked.

“Yes.  Not dying,” Shen-Jon replied.  His answer was met with chuckles from the Judicial pilots, who were long used to being outnumbered and outgunned.

“I’m all right, Micah,” Qui-Gon managed, giving his friend a shove towards the chair.  “Help Eeth.  I’ll be fine in a minute.”  Even as he spoke he could feel that horror lessening, fading away as quickly as it had arrived.  The pair-bond was still stifled, closed to him, but it could have been worse.  If his Padawan needed rescuing, Qui-Gon could only hope that he and the others would still be alive to make the attempt.

Eeth and Micah got them lined up with the _Causality_ and the _Persephone_ , one of the ships that had survived the Stark Hyperspace Conflict.  (He refused to call it a war, as historians were already prone to doing.)  It was good to see her again, and amusing to note that the _Persephone’s_ captain hadn’t even bothered to wipe the battle scars from the ship’s hull. 

“Are you still with us, Qui-Gon?” Eeth asked, taking a moment to turn in his seat before they engaged in battle once more.

Qui-Gon nodded.  Even as he confirmed it, the pairbond flared back into full existence, a steady presence in his mind once more.  Thank the gods.  He recognized now what must have happened—Obi-Wan had encountered a Force Inhibitor.  That thought was even less pleasing.  Where the hell had the Yinchorri found one of those damned things?

“Good.  I’m going to need your help.  Micah, are you ready to get back there with Tsui Choi in the gunner’s pod?”

“No,” Micah replied, eyeing the Yinchorri fleet spread out before him.  “But I’ll do it anyway.”

“Everyone:  We’re going to introduce them to a fleet wall,” Shen-Jon said, once all of their ships were situated.  “After we strafe the Yinchorri, break for hyperspace and meet at our fallback point to rendezvous with the Temple pilots.  Any questions?”

There was silence; everyone gave their assent without speaking.  They weren’t direly outmatched, but even Qui-Gon saw the wisdom of retreating and returning with a greater force to take on the Yinchorri fleet.  The Yinchorri were getting no new ships in to replenish their armada.  It would take a while, but the Jedi would succeed in minimizing their threat.  “All right, then.  May the Force be with us all.”

“Here come the fighters,” Quinlan said, another wave of static attacking the comm frequencies.  “We’re ready to launch, Echuu.”

“Wait a minute,” Adi interrupted.  “Is it my imagination, or are they retreating?”

Qui-Gon got up and looked down over Micah’s shoulder.  On the sensor screens, the Yinchorri fighters were indeed pulling back, arcing around to return to their own ships. 

“That makes no blasted sense whatsoever!” Dama Ro bellowed.  “We haven’t bothered retreating yet!”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Micah said.  “It’s nice to see them running, for once.”

“They’re not running.  All of those fighters have hyperspace capability.  The Yinchorri wouldn’t need to spend the time allowing their pilots to reboard.”  Saesee sounded intrigued.  “I have a strange feeling about this, my friends.”

A minute later they had their answer as the comms crackled to life, picking up an all-frequency broadcast.  “This message is for the leaders of the _Jeedai_ fleet,” a gravelly Yinchorri voice declared.  “We are standing down from active hostilities against all Republic territories in this quadrant, per the order of our Council.  Our flagship will escort the _Jeedai_ vessels to Yinchorr.”

           

*    *    *    *

 

It was twenty hours before they could confirm, through independent and Judicial sources, that the Yinchorri fleet had indeed ceased their attacks.  The Yinchorri drifted quietly in their own little corner of the Golden Nyss’s debris field, tending to their damaged vessels.  On occasion, a member of their High Command, Jrethek, would ask for updates on their progress, but otherwise made no comment.

The Temple ships were introduced to the Judicial Fleet ships, though some crews had been running long enough to greet each other as old friends.  Shen-Jon, Mace, Saesee, and Madakor coordinated the effort to spread the motley fleet throughout the sector, keeping an eye on Yinchorri-held territories and targets.  Qui-Gon watched it all happen and reflected that between the Yinchorri fleet and their own, there likely hadn’t been a gathering like this since the last Sith War.

In another twenty-six hours, a new crew was selected for the _Starlight_ , since she had taken the least damage during the last battle.  On it was Qui-Gon, Micah, Mace, Adi, Dama Ro, and Eeth Koth, acting as representatives of the Jedi Order and the Republic.  Two more Temple flagships would accompany them, flying tandem to Yinchorr and waiting in orbit, while the others discovered why, exactly, the Yinchorri had decided to stand down.  Qui-Gon was almost certain that his partner had done _something_ , but trying to puzzle out what had given him a headache.

Within a half-hour of departing the shipyards, following the flagship of the Yinchorri fleet, they were dropping out of hyperspace before a muddy brown ball that made Tatooine look gem-like in comparison.  Jrethek wasted no time on pleasantries.  “You will follow us, _Jeedai_ ship, to the _y’tineer_.  Our Council awaits you there.”

“Talkative bunch, aren’t they?” Micah observed.

“Well, before this, all of their talking was being done with lasers.  I much prefer this version,” Adi retorted, and Micah nodded in rueful agreement.

The sand of Yinchorr was almost the same color as it appeared from space.  Dry, dusty air greeted Qui-Gon as he stepped off of the _Starlight’s_ boarding ramp.  Micah’s face lit up as he noticed the human waiting to meet them, one who was almost the size of the accompanying Yinchorri. 

Garen Muln grinned back at his Master in response but stayed quiet.  He was wearing scorched Cortosis armor and carrying a blaster rifle in addition to his lightsaber, but his posture was relaxed.  Micah’s Padawan believed there to be no danger here.  Qui-Gon decided to take that as a positive sign.

They lined up before the small Yinchorri detail, bowing in such perfect unison that it looked like the six Masters had practiced the gesture for months.  “Greetings,” Mace said, his expression guarded, giving away nothing.  “These are unusual circumstances we find ourselves in.”

The Yinchorri on the left, robed in dark purple, took a step forward.  He was old, his age apparent in his hunched stature, the faded nature of his scales, and the tremors in his hands.  His eyes were bright and alert, though, and his voice was strong when he spoke.  “I am Volk, Speaker of All,” the Yinchorri said.  “Welcome to Yinchorr, Masters Jedi.  The circumstances are indeed unusual, but perhaps what began as hostilities can end in an accord between us.”

“Given the nature of your military forces, the decision to stand down was an intriguing one,” Qui-Gon pointed out. 

The other Yinchorri snorted, offering the Jedi a curt bow.  “I am Petak, Fourth Speaker of the Council of Elders.  There are some who also believed our decision was foolish, _Jeedai_ , for our strength was great.  Then, as promised, the fighters of your Temple arrived.  Commander Jrethek reported your numbers and we discovered that the other _Jeedai_ spoke true—we are outnumbered, and still the Judicial Fleet has more ships to send against us.”

“Our first two speakers did not want to concede,” said Volk, whose mouth twisted up in a grim smile.  “They want to fight for the honor of our people, but they are forgetting that honor is not always about how much we have acquired, but how strong we remain when the taking is done.”  He held out his massive, clawed hand to Mace, who grasped the Yinchorri Elder’s hand with no hesitation.  “Come, Jedi.  Your fire-haired one is carving out the path that will lead the Republic to accept us, but there is much to discuss of our new purpose.”

They sat down together in a large room of what Jrethek had called the _y’tineer_.  It looked like a badly run moisture farm on the outside, but inside had proven itself to be the command bunker for the entire Yinchorri war effort.  After explaining that Jorek and Sothek, nominal First and Second Speakers for the Council, were in seclusion, and that Kardek, Third Speaker, was standing as a representative for the Yinchorri to the Republic, Volk began to speak. 

Qui-Gon listened, and was dumbfounded by what he heard.  Even Mace, unflappable as he tended to be, was almost unable to maintain his neutral expression.  “And you’re in full agreement as to the matter of the reparations to the survivors of your first attacks?” Qui-Gon asked, glancing at the other members of the Council. 

“Of course,” Volk said, nodding.  “You must remember, Master Jedi, that our conquests have never been about financial gain.  The Yinchorri are warlike, yes, but we seek to better ourselves through our accomplishments.  We have been surrounded by the Republic for almost a thousand years, and in all that time learned so very little.  Given access to technology, we learned all that we could and starved to find more.  This accord will give my people access to all of the knowledge they could ever wish for.”

“And it does give your warrior castes the means to knock heads together on a regular basis,” Micah said, the faint hint of a smile on his face.

“When your children are bored, you give them an outlet, do you not?” Petak sighed.  “Mine wedded out of boredom.  I would rather she had started raising birds.  At least I would have had a meal out of such a thing.”

Volk hissed out a laugh.  “Forgive him, for all he knew from his mate were daughters.  For those of us with sons, even the _intelligentsia_ brawl at times.  If the fighting we do in the future is only to the Republic’s benefit, how can this be a bad thing?”

The explanations continued, though Qui-Gon knew from Adi’s expression that the Council was going to support the accord before the Republic Senate.  That was the last stumbling block they had, and if the Senate held true to form of late, a committee would decide whether or not the Yinchorri Uprising would end on a peaceful note or a disastrous one.

“Come,” Petak said at last, eying his elder with concern.  “The Speaker of All must retire to his chamber for a time.  He is old and needs rest, and we will need his wisdom in the days ahead.”  Volk made a face at Petak, but made no agreement, waiting in his chair while the others stood.  “I will take you to the communications room where Elder Kardek and _Jeedai_ Kenobi are,” Petak said.

Garen had separated from the group before the meeting with Volk and Petak, but met them now in the corridor.  He gave Petak a friendly nod.  “Go and give your father a hand,” he said to the Yinchorri.  Petak gave the young man a short bow and disappeared back down the hallway.  “Hi—Ooof!” Garen’s attempt at speech was cut off when Micah interrupted him with a bone-grinding hug.

“It is _good_ to see you again, Padawan.  Thank you for taking off the armor so I could greet you properly,” Micah said, yanking on Garen’s hair where more traditional human Padawans would have kept their braids.

“You, too, Master.  And we only faced death once or twice.  No big deal,” Garen said with a lopsided smile.

“Once or twice?  Not a big deal?” Micah repeated, placing his hands on his hips.  “Are you sure?”

“No.”  Garen shook his head, all pretense at ease vanishing.  He gave his Master a wide-eyed stare.  “Master, I _hate_ your job.  I will happily stay on course as a Knight Pilot.  I get shot at less.”

Micah laughed.  “Now that’s more like it.  Lead on, Padawan.”

“Yes, Master,” Garen said, turning to lead them down the long hallway.  “After we got communications back up—don’t ask, long story—Obi-Wan and Kardek put in a call to the Chancellor.  That man can make those twits dance when he wants ’em to, by the way,” Garen said, grinning.

“Yes, he can,” Eeth Koth said, amused.  “However, you showed us a long time ago that you can be discreet on political matters, Padawan Muln.  Continue, please.”

“Right, so:  After Chancellor Valorum stirs them up, Obi-Wan and Elder Kardek get to spend six hours with the See-ac folks.”  Qui-Gon nodded; the Senate Interspecies Advisory Committee would have been bound to get involved, sooner or later.  “They weren’t so bad, but Master C’baoth was pissed that he wasn’t consulted before the Yinchorri agreed to a proposal, and tried his best to find some fault with the accord.”

Qui-Gon noticed Mace and Adi exchange glances, which told him that Master C’baoth had come under scrutiny before.  Making a spectacle out of another Jedi’s decisions in public was typically considered a serious offense.

“Then Senate Intelligence got involved.  I thought that was going to pull things apart, since they were insistent at first that Obi-Wan didn’t have the authority to handle this kind of negotiation.  He just didn’t count on a junior Knight to know the law inside out and turn it around on _them_.”  Garen chuckled.  “I wish I could snag a still shot from the vidscreen of that guy’s face once he realized he’d been outmaneuvered.

“Kardek thought it was over, but we knew better.  I learned Yinchorri swear words when the last committee stepped up to lodge their grievances.” 

“Let me guess,” Adi said, her tone sour.  “It’s the Appropriations Committee.”

Garen nodded.  “Coming up on hour five of negotiations, most of it being stymied by the fact that one of the committee members is being…stubborn.”  The way Garen rolled his eyes at the last told everyone that ‘stubborn’ was not quite the right term, but the only polite one available.  He opened a door, and the corridor immediately filled with the sounds of shouting.

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._   Micah mimicked his Padawan’s eye-rolling as they stepped into the room.  _It’s Tikkes._

“This is absolutely unacceptable,” Senator Tikkes was yelling.  “You cannot possibly think this is a good idea.”

[Actually, I think it’s a fantastic idea,] Senator Yarua rumbled.  The ancient Wookiee crossed his arms and glared at the Quarren Senator.  [Nice poetic inference, too.]

“Oh, yes, because we all have read the famous Wookiee poets,” Tikkes sniped back.  In the background, unseen by the Senate committee, Chancellor Valorum rested his face in his hands, shaking his head.  Qui-Gon had the utmost sympathy for his friend, especially since he and Obi-Wan must have been at this for the past two days.

On the viewscreen, Onaconda Farr spoke up before Yarua could respond.  “Before my fellow Senator removes your limbs from your body, Senator Tikkes, I would like to remind you that this committee is overwhelmingly in favor of Knight Kenobi’s plan to restructure the Yinchorri government.  We have negotiated all forms of reparations, fleet maintenance, and personnel recompense.”

“This committee needs the support of every single one of us to proceed in the Senate,” Tikkes said, sitting down in his chair.  “And I’m not supporting this lunacy.”

Obi-Wan had been listening to the exchange, waiting for Tikkes to run out of air.  He was scruffier than Qui-Gon had ever seen him; the long coat had been tossed aside, but the clothes he wore now were torn and dirty.  He was at that midway point that Qui-Gon always hated on himself, when facial hair was stuck somewhere between ‘bearded’ and ‘homeless.’  Still, he was the picture of calm dignity in the face of Tikkes’ opposition.  “Senator Tikkes, you had a significant investment in the Golden Nyss shipyards, did you not?”

The Quarren Senator nodded in response, though his eyes glittered with suspicion.  “Of course—that is common knowledge.”

“I can understand your hesitation, especially in the face of such devastating financial loss.  You are, no doubt, very angry with the Yinchorri and the perceived lack of injunction against them,” Obi-Wan said, and while his words were sympathetic, his expression was a careful blank.  “In the long run, though, it would prove to be more financially ruinous to implement your suggestion.”

“Explain yourself, Knight Kenobi,” Valorum suggested, gaining the attention of the other Senators, most who seemed to have forgotten he was present.  Valorum ignored the stares, concentrating on Obi-Wan.

“If the Yinchorri fleet is confiscated, as Senator Tikkes has suggested is the best way to proceed, it will likely never see service again.  The Republic courts would have purview over its disposal, and it may take decades to see results.  With the last products of the Golden Nyss gone from the public eye, Senator Tikkes would have a very difficult time finding investors willing to secure funds for the shipyards to be rebuilt.  If, however, the ships are in service, visible to the public, proving their worth…”

Tikkes narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers at Obi-Wan.  “I see.  Your point is acknowledged, Knight Kenobi.”

“Well?” Senator Farr said, giving the other man a pointed glare.  “Make up your blasted mind, Tikkes.  I have other problems to confront today.”

[Please.  Some of us wish to have lunch.  Or we can make do with what has been provided,] Yarua said, leveling a stare at the Quarren Senator.

Tikkes held out for a full minute while the other Senators gave him varying looks of disapproval.  Greed won out, though.  “Very well.  I cast my vote in favor of this proposal, in hopes that we really are doing the right thing.  May it not blow up in our faces.”

“Plenty of things have already blown up this week,” Obi-Wan said, his words clipped.  “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

“With all votes in favor, this committee meeting is _adjourned_ ,” Valorum said, glaring at Tikkes when it looked like he wanted to respond.  “Knight Kenobi, you and Elder Kardek have a clear path to continue the negotiations on the Yinchorri Accord.  May the Force be with you.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, giving Valorum a polite bow, which Kardek mimicked. 

The moment the transmission cut out, the Yinchorri whirled upon Obi-Wan.  “Your Republic way of government is intolerable!” he yelled, punctuating his words with hisses that must have been swearing in his own language.  “How in the name of all the gods do you function!?”

“Like a mighty, lumbering beast that’s half-blind, deaf, and missing a leg,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling, but the expression only served to heighten the dark circles that were starting to form under his eyes.  Qui-Gon wondered how much sleep his partner had skimped out on _this_ time.

Kardek shook his head.  “Any suggestions, _Jeedai_?  I must remain sane if I am to deal with such lunacy.”

“Form committees of your own and drown them in paperwork,” Obi-Wan said, resting his hand on Kardek’s shoulder.  “Go tell Speaker Petak and Elder Volk the good news.”

Kardek nodded.  “I will.  Thank you, _Jeedai_ Kenobi.  If not for your patience and your words, this would have gone badly.”

Obi-Wan watched the Yinchorri depart before promptly collapsing onto the nearest chair.  “Hello,” he said, turning his attention to them at last.  “Have a nice flight?”

Qui-Gon chuckled at the perfectly innocent tone Obi-Wan had managed, despite the now-evident exhaustion.  “It was short and uneventful.”

“How did you like going up against Senator Tikkes?” Micah asked with a teasing grin.

Obi-Wan growled.  “I want to punt him through a _wall_.”

Adi hid a grin with her hand as they settled around the small conference table that Obi-Wan had sat next to.  “You’ve been very busy the last two days, Knight Kenobi,” she said, giving Mace a quelling look.  The Haruun Kal Master looked like he was both impressed and hoping for someone to verbally flay.  “You took out five ships in orbit, invaded the Yinchorri headquarters despite a massive guard presence, interrupted communications between the Council, High Command, and their fleet, and negotiated a cease-fire.”

“It’s a massive undertaking for a group of Knights, let alone the fact that you managed it with only yourself and a Padawan that was not your own.  How did you pull it off?” Eeth asked, curious.

Obi-Wan grinned, letting his head fall onto the back of the chair with a muted thump.  “Hired a bounty hunter.”

With the bond back in full strength, Qui-Gon hid a smile as he heard Obi-Wan mentally count down from three…

“You did _what?_ ” Mace bellowed.

“Hired. A. Bounty. Hunter.  Exchanged goods for services.  Common throughout the galaxy.”  Even Dama Ro chuckled a little at Obi-Wan’s sardonic description.

“I heard you the first time, thank you,” Mace said, frowning.  “This is…hell, Knight Kenobi, you know what the Code says about—” 

Obi-Wan cut him off, sitting upright and slamming his fist down on the table with unexpected vehemence.  “Fuck the Code,” he snapped, his eyes flashing.  Qui-Gon jumped, Dama Ro swore, and Adi’s expression captured the image of a sheltered girl who’d witnessed another’s genitalia for the first time.  “Both of us could use that damned thing to back up each other’s arguments until the sun burns out,” Obi-Wan continued, glaring at Mace.  “And we both know it.  The point is this, Master Windu:  Do you want to follow the Code, or do you want to stop a war?”

“I would prefer it to be both!” Mace barked.  Then he sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  “Force, Obi-Wan.  Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Yes, I know exactly what I’ve done,” Obi-Wan replied, the anger fading back into weary exasperation.  “I negotiated a settlement that will save the Yinchorri people from an embargo that would have destroyed them, socially and culturally.  I have beaten my way through the Senate committees to form a new branch of the Judicial Fleet that is under control of the Yinchorri Council, charged with patrolling the dangerous areas of the Outer Rim territories to protect Republic people and investments from piracy and slavery.  A new advisory committee for Judicial affairs will keep tabs on them to make sure they’re not abusing the power of their self-retained fleet.  I created an accord that means everyone walks away content with the end result, and nobody else dies.  Is that satisfactory?”

“I don’t see how an embargo would have destroyed them.  Set them back a bit, yes, but—”

Obi-Wan cut Dama Ro off, shaking his head.  “No.  The vengeance of the Senate against the Yinchorri would have been absolute.  Senator Tikkes was not the only voice crying out for retaliation and the subjugation of the entire Yinchorri people for the actions of their fleet.”

“Permanently?” Eeth asked, with a quick glance at Dama Ro.  The other Master had never learned of Obi-Wan’s vision of their potential future.  Obi-Wan nodded.

“And he did part of that while subverting a Force inhibitor,” Garen chose to add.

“Garen!”

“You—did what?” Adi stuttered, as they looked back and forth between the two young men.  Garen looked pleased; Obi-Wan just seemed frustrated.

“We knew that you’d encountered an inhibitor,” Mace said, glancing at Qui-Gon.  “But since Padawan Muln was kind enough to bring it up, I damned well want an explanation as to what he means.”

“Yes, because rest is secondary and we absolutely have to hash out everything right _now_ ,” Obi-Wan grumbled, giving Garen a dark glare that Garen blithely ignored.  Obi-Wan fished around in a compartment on his belt before tossing a black leather band with a simple clasp onto the table.

Mace picked it up, frowning, turning the strip of black leather over and over in his hands.  Qui-Gon leaned forward for a closer look, noticing the near-invisible patterns in the leather, but there were no symbols that he recognized. “The inhibitor in question, I take it,” Mace murmured.  “A very old one, from the look of it.  Where did it come from?”

“The Wookiee Grrranth acquired it from one of the Yinchorri Elders.  I suspect Jorek or Sothek, but neither will admit to it.”  Obi-Wan stared at the inhibitor, his lips twitching with distaste.  “There may be more, but I don’t think they’re in this _y’tineer_.  Without Jorek or Sothek’s input, we’ll probably never find them.” 

While Garen explained what had happened, the inhibitor circled the table, inspected by each Jedi in turn.  Micah, ever curious, took a moment to encircle his wrist with the band and winced as the inhibition field took effect.  Qui-Gon managed not to hiss in displeasure as his pairbond with Micah was silenced. 

“Insidious little device, aren’t you?” Micah said, releasing the clasp.  “Old or not, it sure as hell does the job.”  Qui-Gon glared at him.

He passed the inhibitor on to Dama Ro, who held it up and eyed the symbols.  “Huh.  You know, I’d almost swear this is a variant on old Aurebesh.”

“Could have been a training device, maybe?” Micah theorized.  “It sure as hell isn’t Sith in origin.”

“Or just pirates with access to the right technology.”  Adi shook her head.  “The symbols might be in the archives.  We can investigate further when we get back to Coruscant.”

Dama Ro frowned and looked at Obi-Wan.  “I would very much like a demonstration of this subverting technique of yours, Knight Kenobi—”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Qui-Gon stated flatly, drowning out any reply Obi-Wan might have made.

“Qui-Gon—” Mace began, but Qui-Gon held up his hand.

“You didn’t feel what that thing did to him,” Qui-Gon said, scowling at the senior Councilor.  “I did.”

Already opening his mouth to speak, Obi-Wan paused, looking at Qui-Gon with a puzzled expression.  “What?  You shouldn’t have felt that.  You shouldn’t have felt _any_ of that.”

“Whatever happened to you doubled him over,” Eeth said, glancing back and forth between them.  “It scared the hell out of me—Micah and I had no idea what was going on.”

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said.  Before Qui-Gon could say another word, Obi-Wan plucked the inhibitor from Dama Ro’s hand and strapped it around his wrist.  There was the same sudden quiet once more, and Qui-Gon watched, helpless, as Obi-Wan bit his lip against the transition. 

Again, he could feel it, though the reaction was not as dramatic as before—panic, fought against with fierce intensity.  Qui-Gon stared at his partner, who’d turned pale the moment the inhibitor was in place.  “What happened to you?” he asked, feeling a distant sense of relief as the faint echo of their pairbond restored itself.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirked in a strained smile.  “I kept pissing off the wrong people,” he said, and held out his hand.  There were a few datapads and several sheets of flimsiplast lying on the table, and when Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched, they rose up into the air. 

“Force,” Adi mouthed.

“Remarkable,” Dama Ro said, snatching one of the flimsiplast sheets out of the air when it wobbled at him.  “How do you do it?”

Obi-Wan let the items fall, not even trying to control their descent, as he ripped the inhibitor back off of his wrist.  If he’d been pale before, now he was almost faint, and beads of sweat were standing out on his face.  “I just…go around it,” he whispered.  “It’s hard to explain.  The inhibitor affects us, not the Force.  The Force is still there.  You just have to…find a new path,” he said, blinking hard, as if trying to focus.

“Obi-Wan?” Garen stepped close, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “You all right?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Think I overdid it,” he muttered, right before he collapsed.

 

*    *    *    *

 

When Obi-Wan found Qui-Gon later, he still looked like hell.  Qui-Gon shook his head and pulled out the next chair at the table.  “You should still be resting.”

Obi-Wan sat down, smiling at the datapads that were strewn everywhere.  It was a common element to Qui-Gon’s work when there was law to be written, and this particular Accord was more involved than most.  “I’m _fine,_ ” Obi-Wan insisted.  “I just need to learn to stay away from inhibitors.”

“Or at the very least, stop voluntarily putting them on,” Qui-Gon pointed out, and Obi-Wan had the grace to flush.

“I didn’t think I was that tired,” he murmured.  “I suppose everything sort of caught up at once.”

Qui-Gon felt a brief flare of frustrated irritation.  “Obi-Wan—of course you were.  You had a cycle right before Tan’al, and we’ve been moving almost non-stop since then.”

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, then sighed.  “You’re right.  Damn.  Damn!” he swore again, vehement, before standing and pacing the room.  “This.  Has got.  To stop!”

The intensity of Obi-Wan’s reaction was not new, but Qui-Gon wished he had new answers for him.  His cycle of nightmares, a parting gift from Obi-Wan’s experience two years ago, lay untouched by anything the Healers could throw at them.  While they had the timing down so that missions could be scheduled around them, the dreams still left Obi-Wan tired for days after they’d ceased.  “If you pace until you fall down again, it’ll be your own fault,” he said, his voice mild.

Obi-Wan paused in the middle of the room, took a deep breath, and came back to the table.  “I hate this,” he whispered, slumping down in his chair.  “I hate feeling like a liability.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “Obi-Wan, liabilities don’t end wars.”

Obi-Wan nodded, managing a wry smile.  “Well, there is that.  Look, I’ll rest, but I need to see through the rest of the negotiations.  I started this process, and it will look bad if I’m not there to see it done.”

He had a valid point, one that Qui-Gon couldn’t find fault with even if he was still concerned.  He decided to move on to other subjects before he started another argument.  “It wasn’t just me, was it?  When you put the inhibitor back on, you could sense me, as well.” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, though he looked troubled.  “I think I know what it is, and it could explain the dream contact, but as far as I remember, it’s not supposed to work that way.”  He closed his eyes, frowning, as if searching…

…and something Qui-Gon hadn’t even known existed flared into life, a tiny flame somewhere in the back corner of his mind.  He gasped in surprise, and tried to seek out the cause, but it seemed as if the link he could sense was just out of his reach.  The identity of whom he was linked to, however, was clear.  “What is that?” he whispered.

“That,” Obi-Wan said, opening his eyes again, “is called an anchor-point.  It’s meant only to be a method of location, though thoughts and feelings can leak through if the link is strong enough.”

He was linked to Obi-Wan, in a way that he hadn’t even known about.  It wasn’t a displeasing thought, but the idea that he had been sharing parts of himself, all unknowing—

“I think it’s only active right now because of my little, ah, panic attack,” Obi-Wan said, cutting off that line of thought before it could finish forming.  “Give it a few days, and it will likely be dormant again.”

That was both reassuring, and maddening.  It could be useful, this anchor-point, Qui-Gon thought, but the link remained just beyond his touch.  “Quite the evasive little thing, isn’t it,” he murmured, and looked at Obi-Wan.  “Can it be removed?”

Obi-Wan was staring at him with guarded eyes, sitting with almost preternatural stillness.  When he spoke, his voice was soft, hesitant.  “Only the person who created the anchor-point can remove it, but that could prove difficult.  An anchor point is meant to be used by those dwelling in another plane of existence.”

Qui-Gon felt his heart skip a beat.  Surely that didn’t mean what he thought it implied.  “You mean—as in meditation,” he hedged.

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “No.  Meditation leads only to an awareness of those other planes.  Existing in them is a different matter entirely.”

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said.  In the next moment, his eyes widened.  He’d died first, after all.  That much Obi-Wan had admitted long ago.  “I created the anchor point.”

Obi-Wan nodded once.

“There are…legends,” he ventured, and then he understood Obi-Wan’s cautious gaze, the wariness in his eyes.  The territory they were wandering into was considered damned near blasphemous to the Order.  “Old legends.”

“What are legends other than history in which the facts can no longer be verified?” Obi-Wan countered, and there was a hint of a smile on his face.

Before he could question Obi-Wan further, Adi appeared in the doorway, giving them both a pleased smile.  “There you two are.  We’re ready to proceed.  It’s time to hash out the written form of this Accord and get it signed, and our chief negotiator needs to be present.  Are you up to it, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan smiled and stood up, and there was not a hint of his earlier exhaustion visible.  Qui-Gon had seen him pull off that trick before.  Obi-Wan could make it through the negotiations without fail, and then some.  “Of course, Master Gallia.  Shall we?”

Qui-Gon nodded and got to his feet, gathering up his robe.  What he wanted to know could wait until another time.  He was surprised, then, when Obi-Wan spoke to him through the bond.  _You’ve heard the tale of Ulic Qel-Droma and Exar Kun, haven’t you?_

 _Yes._   Yoda had told it to him while he had sat at the ancient master’s feet, holding Tahl’s hand.  It had been the eve of his tenth birthday.  He and Tahl had been the last members of their clan in that age range yet to be apprenticed, and Yoda had taken on the task of watching over them.  The memory was always a clear one, for the next day Master Dooku had approached him, asking him to become his Padawan.  _Why?_

_When we get home, I’ll tell you the rest of it—the part that no one in the Order has heard in fifteen hundred years._

 

*    *    *    *

It didn’t take long to finish the written version of the Yinchorri Accord.  Obi-Wan and Speaker Kardek had hashed out most of the work with the committees.  When it had gone to the full Senate, presented by Chancellor Valorum himself, Adi, Mace, and Eeth Koth had been present via holo transmission.  The Senate had ratified the verbal agreement in uncharacteristically swift fashion, which had left Obi-Wan with a perplexed expression that Qui-Gon did not like at all. 

“Stop looking for trouble where none is,” he chided gently as they stood together, waiting for their turn to sign multiple flimsiplast copies of The Yinchorri Accord.

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan protested.  “I’m merely wondering if someone slipped a touch of spice into the Senate dome’s water supply.  They’re never that blasted efficient unless someone is pushing for it, and the only ones pushing for it are us and Valorum.”

“Still looking for trouble where none exists,” Qui-Gon repeated, and Obi-Wan swore at him under his breath.  He smiled and stepped forward, signing his name to the scattering of documents as a standing witness.

Then it was Obi-Wan’s turn, and he walked up to the table to face Volk.  His tunics had not survived the crash of Garen’s shuttle, but he had visited a ’fresher, shaved off several days’ worth of stubble, and his clothes had been cleaned.  Standing there in abbreviated smuggler’s garb, Obi-Wan still managed to look every inch the Jedi Knight, his identity and place in the Force shining like a beacon. 

“Elder Volk, Speaker of All,” Obi-Wan said, bowing over the table.

“ _Jeedai_ Kenobi, Knight of your Order,” Volk replied, solemn-faced, his tail twitching as they each picked up a stylus, ready to finalize the treaty.  “With this Accord, my people give strength to the Republic.”

Obi-Wan nodded as Volk signed the five flimsiplast copies in an elegant scrawl.  “With this Accord, the Republic gives you knowledge.  Use it well,” he said, placing the final signature—his—on each document.

Qui-Gon smiled as the other witnesses, Eve Koh, Thol Heeniir, and Garen Muln applauded.  The accompanying Yinchorri hissed out their own celebratory noises. 

“That was excellent,” Garen said.  “When do we start drinking?”

Volk hissed out a laugh.  “Your young one has a good idea, _Jeedai_ Giett,” he said.  “There will indeed be drinking, but our idea of liquor may eat your stomach cavity.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, much to Qui-Gon’s amusement.  “Speaker Volk, is that a challenge?”

Speaker Petak grinned, showing off all of his teeth.  “ _Jeedai_ Kenobi, come and sample our _ghestak_ , and you will find out.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  “I will take you up on that offer, but first I have one last bit of business to attend to.  Will you accept my apologies?”

Petak glanced off to the side; Qui-Gon followed his gaze to see that, after the initial applause, Eve Koh had grown quiet and solemn.  _Grrranth,_ he thought, remembering the Wookiee waiting in cold-store for a pyre. 

“They are accepted, _Jeedai_.  Go and honor the fallen, for her sake.  Memory is often stronger than betrayal.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan ditched his coat and shirt for the dirty work ahead, Garen and Thol doing the same.  Garen, now that he was familiar with the scars on Obi-Wan’s body, didn’t so much as glance at them, which made Obi-Wan glad.  He’d always hated to be stared at.  

Garen and Thol both still had fading yellow bruises on their bodies, reminders of the beating they’d taken at the hands of the Yinchorri militia.  Thol Heeniir gave Obi-Wan a quick onceover, shook his head, muttered something under his breath, and began setting up the framing for the pyre.

Eve brought over the first load of dried bricks of grass, since there weren’t enough trees on Yinchorr to provide for a wooden pyre.  She noticed Garen, and despite her grief, raised an appreciative eyebrow.  Then she saw Obi-Wan, and made her way over. 

“You sure look like a smuggler,” she commented.  With a quick glance at him for permission, Eve ran her fingers over the lightsaber burn scar on his arm.  “You could have shown this roadmap you’ve got here to Villie and saved yourself the broken nose.”  She was trying for a light tone, but grief etched her too-young face.  He knew, all too well, how she felt.

Obi-Wan took her hand, looking down into her dark, red-rimmed eyes.  Some days he did not have the brightest ideas, and he counted jamming Grrranth’s bowcaster as one of the worst ones.  “Eve, I’m sorry I killed Grrranth.”

Eve shook her head, her eyes glimmering with tears that she did not allow to fall.  “You didn’t kill him.  I heard you, plain as day, telling him not to fire, and he aimed that bowcaster at you and pulled the trigger anyway.  After everything that happened, he should have trusted your word.  It’s his fault he’s dead.  Not yours.”

She put her arms around him and hugged him, resting her head against his chest.  There was nothing flirtatious in the gesture; it was a request for comfort from a friend.

He gave it gladly.

 

*    *    *    *

 

“Speaker Jorek, this is unexpected,” he said, and the sight of the Yinchorri Elder bowing his head in fear brought a smile to his lips.

“Our plans are coming unraveled, Lord Sidious,” Jorek said, raising his head.  “The _Jeedai_ are destroying everything we have worked for!”

“Are they?” Sidious murmured.  That pleased him, but it was not for Jorek to know.  The Yinchorri Councilor was nothing but a pawn, a means to an end.  “I am…displeased.  Your task was simple, Speaker.  You had only to keep the Jedi at bay, and victory would have been yours.”

Jorek gnashed his teeth.  “We did not expect—”

“You did not expect what?” Sidious interrupted, his voice harsh.  “The Jedi to be worthy adversaries?  That you should have minded your own borders?”  He shook his head, and for a moment had to resist the urge to laugh at the weak-minded fool.  An embargo against the Yinchorri was useful; an accord that lent their strength to the Judicial military forces was a coup that he had not foreseen.  Everything was still falling into place, advantageous to him.   

“The red-haired _Jeedai_ proved more resilient than we thought, I admit,” Jorek snarled.  “I had the whole of the Council convinced of the rightness of our war before he fed them pretty words and drivel!”

His smile became a pleased grin that was nothing but teeth.  “Then you will have to kill him, won’t you?  Destroy the primary creators of the Accord, and you still have a chance.”  Sidious waited, watching as Jorek considered this.  “If you kill him yourself, Speaker, I will consider your honor restored,” he added, his voice like synth-silk.

Jorek smiled, his reptilian eyes glinting, as he bowed his head once more.  “Your counsel, Benefactor, is wise as always.  It will be done.”  The holo winked out.

The shadow lurking behind him shifted in place.  “Will he succeed?”

Sidious considered the eddies of the Force, regarding that tangled web of fates once more.  It intrigued him, those threads of possibility, for they dealt with the events of the next two days.  Nothing was clear.  All was in flux, and yet, beyond the threads, he could see his victory still imminent.  “It will not matter.  Whether by agreement or embargo, the Yinchorri will be dealt with, and our path will remain clear.” 

He turned away from his desk, rising from his chair.  “Contact Captain Fratek on the Yinchorri vessel _Sethserek_ ,” he ordered his shadow.  “Tell him that the Council of Elders has betrayed him, as he was warned would happen.  Tell him that it is time to act.”

Maul bowed low to him, and there was pleased fire in his eyes when he faced Sidious once more.  “It will be done, Master.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Qui-Gon was on watch that night when a small ship landed near the _y’tineer_ , flashing its lights once when it did.  He frowned; there was no sense of danger from the ship, and the pilot acted as if he was expected.  That left only one potential answer for its owner.

When he approached on foot, his robe tightly wrapped around himself to guard against the desert chill, Jango Fett was sitting on his ship’s boarding ramp, looking up at the clear night sky.  A long stick of tabac was perched on his lips, and tiny wisps of white smoke curled up into the dark.  “Evenin’,” the bounty hunter said.

“Good evening,” Qui-Gon said, glancing up at the ship.  _Jaster’s Legacy_ had a reputation that even he had heard about.  “You would be the bounty hunter.”

Fett gave him a slow smile, but his eyes were guarded.  This was a man long-used to being in danger from everyone and everything.  “I have a name, you know.”

“I know.  Knight Kenobi was kind enough not to mention it in front of Master Windu, seeing as the two of you have met before,” Qui-Gon replied.

Fett snorted.  “Yeah.  Stubborn Haruun Kal bastard.”

Qui-Gon smiled.  “He can be.”

“I served my time.  He can go pound sand if he wants any more out of me.”  Fett took a long drag on the tabac stick, blowing jets of smoke from his nostrils.  “Stopped by to let Kenobi know that I found something he should see.  The Yinchorri have lots of interesting little stockpiles here and there, but this is one they don’t need to be keeping.”

“What sort of stockpile?” Qui-Gon asked.

Fett smiled.  “You’re not my employer, so you can wait and see if he decides to share.”

“Ah.”  Qui-Gon crossed his arms.  “And how much will this little extra revelation cost him?”

The bounty hunter shook his head.  “Nah.  This one’s a freebie.  He paid me quite well for my time, and I reciprocate when I feel there’s a need.”  He flipped the remains of the tabac stick out into the desert, the ember shining in the darkness for a few seconds before guttering out.  “You’re Qui-Gon Jinn.  I’ve heard of you.”

“Oh?”

“Good reputation.”  Fett gave him a level stare.  “You seem to actually give a damn about the people you leave the Temple to serve.  How your Master raised one like you, I’ll never understand.”

Qui-Gon hesitated.  He’d long since noticed the discomfort whenever Dooku was spoken of by non-Jedi, but this was the first time he’d encountered outright distaste.  “You seem to have an unfortunate view of my Master.”

“Personal experience,” Fett said, and there was a look in his eyes that told Qui-Gon he would not elaborate further. 

Well, then.  Qui-Gon filed that away to ask his Master about later.  “And your thoughts on Knight Kenobi, now that you have personal experience with him, as well?”

Fett was silent for a moment.  “He had a good Master.”  Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at the compliment.  “But that man has seen betrayal of the highest order, Master Jinn.  You can see it in his eyes—hell, I’ve seen that look in my own eyes once or twice.  But there’s such a thing as being beyond jaded.”

“What’s that?” Qui-Gon asked, discomforted.  There was a near-eerie level of insight here, coming from someone who had spent almost no time at all in Obi-Wan’s presence. 

Fett pulled out another tabac and lit it with one swift, practiced motion.  “Tired,” he said.

Obi-Wan joined them after a short comm call, zipped into Garen’s leather freighter pilot’s coat.  Qui-Gon noted the article of clothing and said nothing, though it was a battle to keep his mouth shut.  It could have been innocent.  They were friends.  If not, then it wasn’t his job to take note of his partner’s moments of unprofessionalism.

Then Obi-Wan turned his head and gave Qui-Gon a glacial stare that brought an apologetic smile to his lips.  He nodded, duly chastised—a shared bed did not unprofessionalism make.  Though it did make him wonder about Obi-Wan’s earlier statement of his age preferences, and about Ran D’nl, and why Garen Muln had become an exception.

Fett inclined his head in greeting when Obi-Wan stepped forward.  “That was a hell of a thing you pulled off yesterday.  Well done.”

There was a flash of surprise in Obi-Wan’s eyes, as if Fett’s words were the last thing he’d expected.  “Thank you.  Do you have your ship picked out?”

The bounty hunter grinned.  “Oh, yes.  Just perfect, and the lizards left the rest of my fee on board.  Makes it easier.  You’re going to want to check this out, too,” he said, tossing Obi-Wan a datapad.

Obi-Wan activated the screen, frowning down at it.  Qui-Gon could see a tiny green dot was blinking on and off in the midst of a large cluster of structures.  “That’s in Tol Kashorn.  What is it?”

“Storehouse of some sort, or maybe they meant it to be something worse and never got around to fixing it up.  It’s listed in Sothek’s name, but I couldn’t find out if the entire lizard council was in on it, or if it was just him.  It’s Jedi business, though, and any Mandalorian would tell you that.  No charge.”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “I’ll take care of it.  You should go, though.  Some of us are not at our best right now.”  He held out his arm, meeting Fett’s eyes.  “ _Motir ca’tra nau tracinya_.”

Fett started in surprise, but he reached out and gripped Obi-Wan’s forearm, bowing his head.  “ _Vode an_.”

Obi-Wan bowed as well, their foreheads just shy of touching.  “Safe journey.  Stay out of trouble.”

Fett smiled.  “I’m a simple man, Jedi.  Not my fault if trouble finds me, first.  Farewell, Kenobi, Master Jinn.  One last piece of advice, though.  When you find that storehouse…burn it to the ground.”

They stood together, waiting as Fett sealed up the _Jaster’s Legacy_.  He took off moments later, climbing into the sky and disappearing into the dark. 

“What did you say to him?” Qui-Gon asked, curious. 

“It’s a Mandalorian farewell.  Bit on the traditional side, but there’s not a lot left that know it.  I told him:   _Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame_.”

“Ah.  One of the war chants,” Qui-Gon said, recognizing the words from Basic translations.

“It can be,” Obi-Wan said, but his gaze was distant, melancholy, as if remembering something from long ago.  Once more, Qui-Gon found himself wondering about the events Obi-Wan had lived through, for they had left him scarred, body and soul.  Sometimes he wanted so desperately to know… 

“It’s more than that,” Obi-Wan continued.  “Fett said, ‘ _Brothers all.’_ ” He sighed.  “It was one hell of a double pun.”

Qui-Gon studied the bemused look on Obi-Wan’s face.  “Were you friends, then?”

Obi-Wan glanced up at Qui-Gon and shook his head.  “No.  I don’t think it would have been possible, given the situation at the time.  I don’t even think it’s possible now, though mutual respect would be nice.”

“I think you earned that well enough.”  Through his other pairbond, Qui-Gon gained Micah’s attention.  _Obi-Wan’s bounty hunter brought us some information that he felt important, and I think we should check it out._

 _Damn.  For a little while, I was almost certain we were going to get away with a restful night._   Micah went silent, and Qui-Gon felt the background thrum of another conversation.  _I’ve snagged Mace.  The four of us should be enough, and I’d rather the others stayed here in case of trouble._

 _It’s just a storehouse.  If the four of us aren’t enough to deal with it, then it’s time to retire,_ Qui-Gon replied.

The echo of a sigh touched him.  _Truth.  But there had damned well better be caff involved._

Qui-Gon turned his attention back to Obi-Wan to find that the melancholy had become pensive in nature.  Qui-Gon hated to see that drawn look on Obi-Wan’s face, but sometimes he had no idea what to do to help.  He asked the first thing that came to mind, instead, curious as to whether he would get an answer.  “Were we friends, then, after your Knighting?”

Obi-Wan looked at him, and for a moment there was a flash in his eyes of something indiscernible, elusive, and for the life of him Qui-Gon had no idea what it meant.  It would be nice, though, to have been remembered as something more than just a teacher.  There certainly should have been enough time for it; the Padawan Obi-Wan had once been could have become a Knight by nineteen, perhaps sooner.  Qui-Gon was getting older, but he was far from ready for the pyre.

His partner finally nodded, giving Qui-Gon an amused smile.  “We could scream and swear at each other one minute and laugh about it five minutes later.  Does that count?”

Qui-Gon found himself smiling back.  “Sometimes I think all of my friendships work that way.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

They reached Tol Kashorn when the first moon lit up the eastern sky, following the trail of that mysterious green dot.  It led them to a nondescript building not far from the market district.  It sat alone, at a distance from any other building, and squatted with a palpable air of menace in the sand.  Qui-Gon stepped off the speeder bike he’d shared with Obi-Wan, while Micah and Mace dismounted the other.

Obi-Wan tugged at a lock on the door, giving Mace a questioning look.  Mace nodded after glancing up and down the street to see if anyone had taken notice of their activities.  Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and took out the lock in one swift motion, catching it so it would not clatter onto the street and extinguishing his blade before the light and sound could garner attention. 

“Wonder how our bounty-hunting friend found out what was inside,” Micah murmured.

Obi-Wan pointed up at a bank of windows.  “Jet pack,” he said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.  Qui-Gon followed him, walking into a musty room whose only light filtered in from the aforementioned windows.  Once Mace had shut the door, leaving Micah outside to keep watch, they ignited their lightsabers and took a look around.

Qui-Gon saw black lines hanging down the wall, silver glints of metal, and mysterious implements, and at first his mind simply did not want to process what he was seeing.  He stepped closer, touching a large frame that was mounted on the wall closest to him. 

“Scan grid,” he mouthed in surprise, and jerked his fingers away with a muted hiss when he sensed the remnants of pain echoing on the device. 

“Blasted fuck,” Mace spat, examining a series of blades hung from the wall, all of them etched with unfamiliar text.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many torture implements sitting together in one room.  If I didn’t know better, I’d call it a museum.”

“That description’s not far off.  Most of these are antiques.”  Obi-Wan picked up a black strip of leather—a collar, much like the one he had shown them earlier that day.  “I have another inhibitor here.  Grrranth must have acquired his from Sothek.”

“Old or not, it doesn’t make them any less dangerous.”  Qui-Gon raised his lightsaber again, looking at an array of neural disrupters on a shelf.  Each one was meant for a different species.  He turned away, grimacing.  Sothek, if this was his work, had been doing a thorough job at putting his collection together.

He was wondering what Fett had seen to make him believe the place needed to be destroyed when he felt it—a ripple of intense shock, coming from the pairbond he had with Obi-Wan.  He walked forward and found Obi-Wan standing stock-still in front of another display. 

“What is…”  His voice trailed off as his lightsaber added green light to the blue already provided, and Qui-Gon found his heart skipping a beat.  He opened his mouth to speak again, and found he had nothing to say.

“What are you two— _Sith,_ ” Mace’s voice fell to a whisper as he joined them. 

The display took up a third of the room, and Qui-Gon understood now where the building’s sense of danger came from.  “Sith,” he said, the word tasting like dust.  “These are all implements of the Sith.”  

His eyes roamed the things lined up in neat rows on shelves, the dark items hung from the wall, and he didn’t know the names for half of them.  His Master would be more useful, here; Dooku had made a study of objects like these, locking himself for hours at a time in the Archive’s vaults with the Jedi’s protected cache of Sith objects. 

Mace picked up a black mask that had been hanging in place, turning it over in his hands.  When he went to investigate the inside, Obi-Wan’s voice, short and sharp, stopped him. “Don’t.  Don’t touch the inside.”

Mace gave him an irritated look.  “Why not?  It can’t harm me unless I try to wear it.  It’s an inhibitor mask, unless I miss my guess.”

Obi-Wan held out his hands, giving Mace a stern glare.  Mace, to Qui-Gon’s surprise, handed the mask to Obi-Wan without further comment.  Obi-Wan stared down at the black features for a moment, and with the new perspective Qui-Gon could see that the surface of the mask was etched with sigils and glyphs that he did not know.  He could guess at their identity, though.

“It’s not just a Force inhibitor, though it is the mask’s primary function,” Obi-Wan said, his voice flat, and that caught Qui-Gon’s attention.  The pairbond was starting to fill with those black threads of panic again.  Obi-Wan flipped the mask over, revealing the inside.  He used the lock he still held from the door to brush the inner surface, which came to life at the brief touch.

“Sith,” Mace swore again, as black spikes tried to wrap themselves over the metal of the lock before settling, turning invisible once more.  “You have my thanks, Knight Kenobi.  I’ve never seen a damned thing like that before.”

Obi-Wan nodded.  “The inside of the mask can do several things.  Once you slip it onto someone, the spikes will come to life, gripping and piercing skin.  To remove the mask, once this happens, is painful at the least, torturous at the worst.  Sometimes the spikes also deliver a sedative.  If you’re truly unlucky, poison.”  He turned the mask over again in his hands, his expression contemplative, and said in a low voice: “I almost died in one of these.”

Qui-Gon shuddered.  “Is that where you learned to…?”

“Get past an inhibitor?”  Obi-Wan smiled without humor.  “Yes.  Didn’t have much choice in the matter.” 

Mace shook his head.  “Now that’s a story I want to hear.”

“It’s not pleasant,” Obi-Wan said, but his attention was still focused on the dark implements before them.  “He was right.  We should burn this place to the ground.”

“In my personal opinion, I agree with you,” Mace said, taking the mask from Obi-Wan’s hands and hanging it back on the wall.  “But the fact of the matter is that these artifacts are still important to the Order, historically.  We could learn much from these.”

“Learn?”  Obi-Wan laughed, but there was intense bitterness in the sound.  He pointed at a crystal necklace, sitting on a velvet display.  “Want to bend another to your will?  Try that.  You’ll never hear a contrary noise again.”  

He pointed again, this time at a long black stick that looked like nothing more than a simple-lined, elegant cane.  “Want to stop someone’s heart with no trace evidence left behind?  This will help.”

A third item, a glove with metal tips on the ends of the fingers:  “That’s about two thousand years old, and still there is enough poison residing on those tips to kill every living thing on this planet.”

The next thing Obi-Wan picked up had a hilt much like a lightsaber.  Ignited, however, it proved to be far more dangerous.  Qui-Gon stepped back as the lightwhip emerged, trailing a long red line down to the floor.  “Damn!” he whispered.  Now there was a weapon he had never wished to see in action!

Obi-Wan shut down the lightwhip and tossed it back onto the shelf where it had been found.  “We can not, should _not_ ,” he said, his voice cracking, “take any of this anywhere near the Temple.”  He pointed back at the display as he looked at them, his hand shaking.  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about anything you see here, but the only thing you’ll ever gain from taking it home is trouble.  There is nothing to learn from these things.  They’re _death_.  That’s all they will ever be.”

Qui-Gon could see Mace struggling.  His duty to the Order             often superseded what he wanted to do, but in this instance… 

“Mace.  He’s right.  A holocron would at least have a point, a story to tell.  There are no stories here.  Just endings.”

Mace frowned, but he nodded slow agreement.  “I believe you.  Obi-Wan, are you certain you can at least create replicas for us?  Something to be studied, in case we run into things like these again?”

“I will sit in the Archives for a month if that’s what it takes for you to agree.”

Mace blew out a long breath.  “Fine.  What do you propose we do in the meantime, then?  We can’t leave any of this here to be found.”

Obi-Wan gave the Councilor a brittle smile.  “Burn it to the ground,” he said, and glanced at the mask that he’d held. 

The item in question sprouted blue-green fingers, quickly turning to orange flames as the fire caught and burned.  Obi-Wan waved his hand, his face blank, and fire danced up the wall, catching hold of the shelf above the mask and licking along the bottom with greedy fingers.

Mace bit off whatever he was about to say.  He grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm and pulling him back when flame jetted forth as an object filled with red liquid exploded from the sudden heat.  “Next time, please wait until _after_ we leave the building to set it on fire.”

They went outside, leaving fire behind them.  Micah took one look at Obi-Wan’s shock-blank eyes and asked where the inn was that he and Garen had holed up in, telling the others that they could fly the speeders back to the _y’tineer_ in the morning.  Obi-Wan blinked a few times before pointing, directions coming forth in a halting monotone before he lapsed into silence.  They mounted up on the bikes, Qui-Gon somewhat reassured by the tight arm that was wrapped around his waist and the forehead he could feel resting on his back. 

They kicked off and left the storage house to burn behind them.  The heat of the fire was shattering the long bank of windows, and the night’s silence remained unbroken by any warning claxons.  If Yinchorr did have a fire safety regiment, they would never arrive in time to save anything the storehouse had contained.  The thought was reassuring.

The inn was easy to find, and the access hatch for the sublevel had been untouched since its last use by Obi-Wan, Garen, Eve Koh, Grrranth, and Thol Heeniir.  The lights came up when Qui-Gon touched the panel inset into the wall at the bottom of the ladder. 

QuiGon noticed evidence of the small group’s earlier stay as the others climbed down to join him.  Supplies had been hunted down and placed nearby, and on the door nearest him someone had written directly onto the metal surface:  _First two ’freshers work.  Last two ’freshers are evil.  Showers emit rusty sludge.  You have been warned!_   He smiled, recognizing Garen’s rough penmanship and sense of humor.

Obi-Wan made his way down the ladder last, closing and sealing the hatch above them with a mumbled, “Just in case.”  They expected no further hostilities from the Yinchorri, but Tol Kashorn had other dangers.

Qui-Gon watched his partner, noticing his trembling hands and set mouth, and his worry grew.  It was hard to rattle Obi-Wan, under normal circumstances.  He seemed damned near fearless most of the time.  Yet they kept running into things on this mission that disturbed his serenity just as much as that dreaded, fathomless cycle of nightmares. 

“Are you all right?” Qui-Gon asked, knowing the question was foolish but voicing it anyway.

Obi-Wan shook his in a sharp negative, and walked past Qui-Gon, heading for a series of panels inset into the wall.  He banged on the third one with his fist and it popped open, swinging out on recessed hinges.

Micah whistled at the collection of bottles they could all see.  “That’s a hell of a secret stash,” he said, and Qui-Gon nodded in agreement; there was enough liquor in that cabinet to open a bar with.

“Grrranth found it,” Obi-Wan said, selecting an unmarked bottle filled with amber liquid, certainly a brandy, likely to be an illegal import.  He stared at it for a long moment, his eyes still gray and empty.  It was as if, in the last few hours, he’d seen far too much.   

When Obi-Wan spoke, his voice was so quiet that even in the near-silent environment, it was hard to make out the words.  “When I was on Tatooine, I went through a long period where I didn’t dare keep anything like this around.  It was too much of a temptation, and I couldn’t afford that.  I couldn’t afford to drink for the wrong reasons.  Of course, then I had a bad night and went after the pain pills in my med kit.”  He smiled in faint remembrance.  “Never did that again.”

Micah, Mace, and Qui-Gon exchanged glances, all of them wondering what circumstances would have driven Obi-Wan to reach for that kind of solution.  “What is this, then?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice soft.  “The right reason, or the wrong one?”

Obi-Wan turned around, and the shell-shocked look had faded somewhat, but it hadn’t retreated all the way.  Qui-Gon could see it lurking in the pinched cast to Obi-Wan’s features.  “About fifty-fifty,” Obi-Wan said, a hint of manic humor in the words.  “I want to—no.  I don’t want to talk about this, but I need to.  I never did before.  Never told a blasted soul.”

Mace crossed his arms and offered Obi-Wan a glare, though there was not much heat in it.  “And how the hell did you get away with that?” 

“We were _busy,_ ” Obi-Wan retorted.  “I didn’t have time to have a mental breakdown and hide under the furniture.  You asked, Master Windu.  Do you want to hear this or not?”

Micah smiled at the exchange.  “Any glasses in this dump?”

Glasses were procured and dusted with robes and sleeves, and Obi-Wan downed three shots of the mystery brandy before he could speak again without his voice shaking.  “I’m going to tell you this story despite my better judgment, because, Force as my witness, if I have to live through that same _shit_ all over again—!”  He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes for a brief moment before facing them, resolute.   

“Her name was Asajj Ventress.  A Jedi, Ky Narec, found her after crash-landing on her world, which at the time was beyond Republic borders.  They weren’t space-faring, not yet, and Narec, stuck as he was, took her as his student.”  Obi-Wan paused, nodding in thanks when Micah topped off his empty glass, though he didn’t yet drink what he had been given. 

“Please understand that much of this is conjecture.  We had to put together her past after the fact, since she wasn’t going to tell us herself.  I found Narec’s lightsaber among her things, later, and Yoda identified it as his, so perhaps I’m right and he was her teacher.  We know that, whatever happened, she cared a great deal for him, and when he was murdered, she did not take it well.”

As Obi-Wan spoke, his eyes grew distant, and there was no mistaking the anger in his voice when he continued.  “She found a way off of her planet, already so lost in Darkness that all she wanted was revenge against the Jedi, convinced that it was somehow the Order’s fault that Narec was dead.  She found…she found a Dark Jedi, a Master that had willingly Fallen, and convinced him to complete her training.”

“Who?” Mace asked, leaning forward.  Obi-Wan shook his head, giving Mace a warning look that spoke volumes about his unwillingness to disclose the Fallen Jedi’s identity.  _Don’t ask me about anyone’s fate,_ he’d said once. _Not even my own.  I won’t tell you, and even if I did, you would not like what you would hear._

“She set her sights on destroying any Jedi that crossed her path, and she was good.  Far too good.  And then…then she met me, and Anakin.  We stopped her, time after time, though it was never easy.  Anakin could best her with a lightsaber, and was doing his best to stop her, but each time Ventress made her escape.  I—I kept seeing something in her eyes, something that didn’t match her actions.  I tried to talk to her.” 

Obi-Wan hesitated.  “I think, given what we found out later, that my words reminded her of things that she wanted to forget.  Either way, I certainly pissed her off.

“She’d found one of the masks, knew what it was, and bided her time.  When the opportunity came, she took it, pinning me down during a battle aboard an AT-AT—”

“A _what_?” Micah wanted to know, his glass paused half-way to his lips.

“All-Terrain Armored Transport,” Obi-Wan clarified, shaking his head.  “Sorry.  Sometimes I forget.  They’re giant behemoths that wander around on four massive legs, capable of supporting turbolaser mounts for ground assaults.  Good for smashing things.  Bad if someone figures out how to trip up the legs while you’re riding in one.”

“Someone did, I’m guessing,” Mace said.

Obi-Wan nodded.  “It went down, and when I came to…”  This time the liquor went away in the time it took Qui-Gon to blink.  He steeled himself, knowing that what came next was not likely to be pleasant.  “One of the other survivors, a man who went by the designation Alpha Seventeen, was ripping my robe off, trying to make sure the rest of me didn’t catch fire.  I saw him go down, and—”  His breath hitched, but when he continued, his voice was still steady.  “And that was the last thing I saw for a while.  She pulled the mask down over my head, and the Force went away.

“She took us back to her planet, a place none of us yet knew about.  I was bound hand and foot, and though she left the mask in place, I learned that they were flexible little things.  They don’t just inhibit the Force.  They’re sensory deprivation devices, and you can pick and choose what input you want to block.  She gave me back my sight, my hearing, and then made me watch her torture Seventeen.”

Obi-Wan paused, grim amusement etched on his face.  “Seventeen was a bit more strong-willed than she had expected.  She wanted information, but he remained silent no matter what she did to him, except for the occasions when he would crack a smile and call her a crazy bitch.

“After three days of this, she unhooked Seventeen from the grid and had him dragged out.  He left behind a trail of blood on the floor, and she let it dry there, where I had to see it, before she came back for me.”  He took a deep breath.  “Three days without sleep, water, food... no sense of the Force.  I was shaky, but I thought I could handle it, if she did to me what she had just done to Seventeen.  But that’s not what she had in mind.”

 

_“What are you doing?” he asked, as Ventress picked him up without a hint of strain, carrying him down a long hallway.  There were flickering lights overhead, and even without the Force he could feel the pervading despair.  He caught hints of desperate pleading, of quiet sobbing, and cold stole over his heart.  He was in deep, deep trouble and knew it, despite the words of encouragement he’d shouted to Seventeen._

_“I want to provide you with an understanding,” Ventress said, and her voice was quiet, a far cry from her usual snarl.  “You always survive, Kenobi.  I want you to know what despair feels like.”_

_“I already know what that’s like.”  Then, knowing it was futile, he said, “You won’t get away with this, you know.”_

_She laughed at him, a bone-chilling sound.  “You still think your precious Skywalker will rescue you, that others will come for you?  Why would they?  You’re already dead, after all,” she continued, and his heartbeat picked up.  “They think you died when the AT-AT went down.  My little inhibitor tells them so.”_

_“Whatever you want, you won’t get it from me,” he told her, but the words sound forced, even to him._

_She smiled.  “I don’t want anything from you.”_

Obi-Wan came back to himself with a start and found Qui-Gon’s hand on his arm.  His partner was staring at him with worried blue eyes, and Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath, realizing that he felt oxygen-starved.  “I’m all right,” he said, and it was only half a lie.  He was not there.  He was not hanging in silence, waiting to die.  Struggling to hold onto that truth, he plowed on.

“She took me to a remote part of her fortress, far from prying eyes or curious ears, and hung me from a pipe that ran along the ceiling.  There was a medical droid there, and she ordered it to place an intravenous line in my arm.”

_After all this, you’re just going to poison me?_

_Poison you?  Oh, my dear Obi-Wan, no.  You deserve better than that._

“She gave it specific instructions.  It was to keep the fluids going, make sure the bags were switched out regularly.  It was allowed to keep me hydrated, but otherwise make no attempt to save my life.”

_She kissed him, which was a surprise, and it made his stomach churn.  He knew what she was going to do, now, and panic was starting to rear its ugly head._

There was sick, horrified understanding on Qui-Gon’s face.  Obi-Wan imagined he looked rather ill, himself.  “She sealed the mask.  No sight, no sound, no scent.  Full inhibition.  She said goodbye, and left me to die.”

“Gods,” Micah whispered.  “What did you do?”

Obi-Wan had held it together well, so far, but now his hands were shaking again, and he couldn’t stop them.  He looked at the Jedi Masters sitting around him, not realizing that there was a near-baffled expression on his face.  “Do?” he repeated.  “Master Giett, I lost my fucking _mind_ , that’s what I did.”  

Then Obi-Wan wished he hadn’t said that, because the hurt and pain in Qui-Gon’s eyes was hard to see.  “I don’t know how long it took.  I had no sense of time.  It could have been hours before the reality of it all hit me, of just how fucked I was.  I’d like to think it was at least a day or two before I started screaming.”  He shut his eyes, unable to look into his partner’s face any longer and see distress and horror and sympathy. 

“It—it was the only time I was glad that you were already dead,” Obi-Wan whispered, feeling an echo of the old shame.  “That you didn’t have to—to see—”

“You think I would scorn a man who had been pushed beyond his limits, who had been deprived of every sense?  That I would disdain someone left to suffer like that?” Qui-Gon asked, and his voice was quiet, soothing. 

 _I am_ not _going to cry_ , Obi-Wan ordered himself, almost undone by his former Master’s gentle words.  He opened his eyes, managing to produce a broken smile.  “No,” he whispered.  “You never did.”

“Who rescued you?” Mace asked, and Obi-Wan was grateful for the question, as it gave him a way to continue. 

“Master Windu, _no one_ rescued me.  No one knew I was alive.  There was no reason to search for me, or for Seventeen.  Even Anakin believed me dead, and was reassigned a new Master.” 

He held up his hands when it looked as if Mace would speak again.  “Just—wait.  Listen.” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and ran himself through several calming exercises.  He could do this.  He could finish this.

Maybe when it was all over, there would be one less nightmare for him to face.

“Screaming gets old, after awhile.  I stopped that, tested the restraints that held me, yanked on the pipe with all of my strength, checked for slack, the ability to slide back and forth.  There was _nothing._   I decided to hope that Seventeen, in his infinite stubbornness, would break free and find me.  Then I realized he was probably dead, and chose to stop thinking for a little while.

“You never—you never think about how many songs are out there, and how many of them you might remember, until you need to think of all the words,” he said, and what Obi-Wan remembered then was not sound, but the vibration of duracrete under his feet.  “I couldn’t hear what I was saying.  I couldn’t hear myself scream, couldn’t hear myself sing.  If I projected, though, I could feel it.  I discovered that I knew eighty-three songs from start to finish, lyrics and all, if I fought with my memory and concentrated long enough.  I made up fifteen more, trying to stay sane.”  He found himself choking back a short, mirthless laugh.  “That’s not counting the smuggling chants or the drinking songs.  I know a _lot_ of drinking songs.” 

He had focused and sang and thought and remembered, humming melodies when words wouldn’t come.

Song.

_Buy'ce gal, buy'ce tal…_

_When your heart’s been broken, a thousand times…_

After song…

_Think what you like, there is time enough for everything—_

_Ca’na’du ez pe, ca dua’tha tui an al…_

After song.

“When that didn’t work, it was back to the screaming.  I’d almost like to say there was sobbing, but I couldn’t.  The droid might have kept me hydrated, but I was starving to death, too, and my body didn’t want to give up anything it didn’t have to.

“I lost my voice,” he said softly.  “And then I didn’t have anything.”

Obi-Wan spent a few minutes breathing, focusing on the simple process of taking air in, holding it, and releasing it, again and again.  He couldn’t talk about the despair he’d felt in that time without name.  He didn’t have the words to explain how he’d just…stopped.  Everything went into automatic.  He kept himself alive as best he could, because it was something to do.  He sang the songs in his mind, but they echoed against trapped thoughts, and then he’d cried, broken beyond belief, but no tears could fall.

_He was standing on his tip-toes, trying to give his stressed circulatory system some much-needed relief.  Humanoids could suffocate if hung with their arms over their heads too long, he’d remembered reading at some point, and while not perfect, standing that way took some of the strain off of his system.  (He’d think, later, that it never occurred to him to let the suffocation happen, and would shudder at the realization.)_

_He felt something touch the top of his head.  And then touch the top of his head again.  And again.  Again._

“The pipe…  I don’t know if I did it, or if it had been happening all along and I didn’t notice.  There was water leaking from it, hitting the top of my head, over and over.  At first I was angry: here was the one thing I _didn’t_ need, that I had plenty of.”  There were faint smiles of understanding and agreement on Mace and Micah’s faces.  From Qui-Gon there was a constant, warm sensation through the pairbond, steadying him, reminding him that he was not alone. 

Then he spoke, knowing the memory was there for both of them.  _“Water is patient.  Water finds all paths.  Block the path, and water will make a new one.  Water finds a way._ ” 

Qui-Gon smiled, his eyes shining with unshed tears.  “The sea wall at Darbus.”  A mission the two of them had undertaken when Obi-Wan was fourteen, when balance had begun to find them at last.

Obi-Wan nodded.  “That stupid, leaky wall saved my life.”  Familiar calm stole over him, buffeting him against the remembered feel of howling pain and agonized hunger and raging despair.  “I went inward, discovered at last that after all that time, I could ignore what was happening to me.  I stopped feeling everything, felt nothing, _focused_ on that nothing.

“I don’t remember succeeding, though I know I did.  I just remember falling to the ground.  The pipe burst, showering me with cold water.  I couldn’t…I couldn’t feel it.  Even when I used the last of my strength to pull that fucking mask off, losing skin and blood in the process, I never felt the cold.”  

When Obi-Wan spoke again, his voice wobbled no matter what he did to try and control it.  “I couldn’t get up.  The shock of the water and the fall—my body was shutting down.  I remember using the Force to hit the droid’s master switch.”  He’d heard the beginning of the droid going through a hard reboot, and hoped that the reset would allow for resumption of its primary function:  Preserve all life. 

He didn’t remember anything else.

“When I woke up, five days later, I still couldn’t speak, but the droid had saved my life, dragging me down to Ventress’s infirmary when I didn’t respond after it restarted my heart.  I was on dialysis for damned near everything, tubes were everywhere…and the very first thing I heard was Anakin, filling the training bond with the happiest profanity I have ever heard in my life.” 

The memory made him smile.  Anakin had never been inclined to swear much, and Obi-Wan had been warmed by the realization that Anakin was bloody well over the moon to know that he was alive again. 

_You’re conscious it took you fucking long enough I’ve been able to feel you for days!  Oh, my—fucking stars, Obi-Wan!  Where are you!?_

_Little place called Rattatak.  Gloomy.  Dusty.  Wet.  Don’t like it very much._

_Where the hell have you been?  Are you all right?_

_I’m in medical, Anakin.  I will be._

_Sith!  Sith Sith Sith!  What happened?_

_Torture sucks, Anakin.  Always remember that._

_Tortured—who was it?  I will track them down and I will kill them, I promise!_

_You keep trying to kill Ventress.  It’ll be nice if it works at some point._

_Figures._   Hesitant pause.  _Master?  Aren’t you supposed to tell me not to seek revenge?  You know, the usual Jedi spiel?_

_Anakin, dear Padawan, I am drugged to the gills.  You’re lucky to be getting coherent mindspeech.  I don’t do lectures when the ceiling over my head is covered in purple Nerfs._

“Ventress hadn’t just abandoned me, she abandoned the entire facility.  As far as I know, she never returned there.  By the time Anakin and his temporary Master arrived a week later to pick me up, along with a slew of surviving prisoners Seventeen had found, I looked almost normal.  The only thing that didn’t heal was my voice.”  He glanced at Qui-Gon.  “You asked me some time ago why I never sang anymore, like I sometimes did when I was younger.  It’s not because I don’t want to.  I just keep forgetting that I _can._   I grew used to sounding like I had a throat full of dust if I tried.”

Qui-Gon reached out, gripping his hand and squeezing with gentle pressure.  _Are you all right?_

 _No,_ Obi-Wan admitted.  _No, now I want to get drunk._   He shook his head, amused and off-balance and was wondering what the hell he’d been thinking, telling this story.  _I think that would be a bad, bad idea, though._

“Fucking hells,” Micah was saying, pouring himself a new glass of the brandy.  “How many days was it?  How long until you broke the pipe?”

Obi-Wan licked lips that felt far too dry, and shoved back a remaining thread of the old panic the question brought forth.  It was done.  Over with.  “From the time we arrived at Ventress’s fortress on her planet to the time the pipe broke?”  Micah nodded.  “Thirty-three days.”

“Sweet Force,” Qui-Gon breathed, and his hand gripped Obi-Wan’s even tighter than before.  “I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.”

He shook his head.  “It’s… it’s all right.  It was horrible, but as things go, it’s far from being the worst thing that ever happened to me.”  Qui-Gon bit out a soft curse, which Mace echoed, and Micah stared at him in stunned amazement. 

Obi-Wan smiled faintly at the sight.  “Master Windu, you have asked me in the past why I don’t just…hand out the things I learned, to share the knowledge I earned.  This is why.  There are some things I can’t teach because I refuse to put others through the same things that happened to me.  Knowing that it is possible to subvert an inhibitor is going to have to be enough.”

“And I promise that I will pay very close attention to that fact from now on,” Mace said, his voice solemn.  “And you are going to agree to see a Healer when we’re back on Coruscant.  _No_ excuses, Obi-Wan,” he insisted sharply, when Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply, to refuse.  “I know there is much you can’t speak of, but things like this—you need to talk about this.  I’m sure there are other things lurking in that head of yours that you could stand to purge.”

Obi-Wan managed a nod, even if part of him wanted to scream back at Mace that there was not enough talk in the fucking _galaxy_ to cope with what he’d seen.  “I know.  I just…I’m still so used to dealing with this sort of thing alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon smiled at him.  “I find that I must keep reminding you of the fact that you’re _not_ alone.  Not anymore.”

Tears slipped free from his eyes before he could regain control.  He blinked away the rest.  If he fell apart, then Force knew when he’d manage to pull himself back together.  “Thank you.”

“This Ventress woman,” Micah spoke up, looking curious.  “What ever happened to her?”

“I killed her,” Obi-Wan said, the memory coming forth easily enough.  Then the image blurred, and he hesitated.  Had he?  “I—I think I killed her.  It was…” 

He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead, fighting through the haze of memory the question had provided him with:

_Standing in the rain, on a landing platform outside abandoned Tipoca City.  Avery was dead; Ventress was not._

_What do you want?_

_I have been paid to make sure you’re dead._

Paid by who?  He closed his eyes, fighting his way forward, fighting Asajj and her twin red blades—

—and then he was standing on the platform again, but this time he was alone.  No Ventress, no dead half-rate smuggler, no ships.  No cargo.  Nothing but falling rain.

Rain and darkness.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Qui-Gon knew something had gone wrong, could feel it in the suddenly icy hand he held and the sense of discord from the pairbond.  “Obi-Wan,” he said, leaning forward.  _Please, let it not be what I think it is._  

No response.  Mace was at his side in an instant, flanked by Micah.  “What’s wrong?” Micah asked, terse.  Then he sucked in a worried breath.  “Oh, fuck, I read that report.”

The last time they’d tried to crack the mystery of the block, Obi-Wan had ventured in as close as he could get, following the trail of memories he couldn’t quite focus on.  He’d been supported by Terza and several other Healers, provided with a buffer in a controlled environment, and still the experiment had ended with Obi-Wan unconscious and on the verge of a stroke. 

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, loud and fierce.  Obi-Wan opened his eyes, but he was focusing on nothing.  His lips were moving, saying something so faint that Qui-Gon had to lean in close to hear it, his hands resting on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“There’s nothing here, there’s nothing here, there’s _nothing here_ —”

“Sith hells,” he spat.  Already he could see the beginnings of convulsions as Obi-Wan’s body spasmed under his hands.  No time for subtleties, then.  Qui-Gon closed his eyes, diving down the length of their pairbond in an attempt to pull his partner back from the brink of what could very well be madness.

His awareness ground out on a platform made of metal, and cold rain was pouring down in vicious waves.  He stepped forward, glancing over the edge and saw roiling, churning seas.  The skies were just as dark, just as embroiled, as the waves below, highlighted by flashes of lightning far above his head.

He turned and found Obi-Wan, just not _his_ Obi-Wan.  The man standing there could easily pass as someone Qui-Gon’s age, but Qui-Gon had the uncomfortable feeling that Obi-Wan wasn’t even close to the fifty-year mark yet.  His hair was touching his shoulders, but it was jagged and uneven, as if it had been cut in a hurry.  He was bearded, but both beard and his temples were streaked with liberal threads of white.  He was holding a lightsaber in his hand, the pale blue blade ignited, and he was staring at Qui-Gon uncertainly.  When Qui-Gon took a step towards him, though, there was a flash of relief in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

“Qui?  You’re real?  I’m not hallucinating?” Obi-Wan asked, and another flash of lightning highlighted the desperation on his face.

There was that short name again.  Qui-Gon admitted to himself that he could get used to hearing it.  “I’m real,” he confirmed.  “Just trying to figure out why you’re standing here in the rain,” he said, forcing a smile.

Obi-Wan bit his lip.  “There’s nothing _here,_ ” he said, like he couldn’t quite get past the concept.  Even Qui-Gon could sense it, as if they were standing far too close to something that had the ability to shadow everything, and he restrained a shudder. 

Qui-Gon walked closer, dropping his hand onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  The man was soaked to the skin, and at this distance there was no missing the fact that there was desolate heartbreak in his eyes, and it was far, far worse than what he’d dreamed a few nights ago.  _Gods.  Gods, what happened?_ Qui-Gon wanted to ask, and knew he could not.  After the tale he had just been told, he wondered if he would dare ask any such question again.

“If there’s nothing here now, then perhaps you need to go back to when things were here,” he suggested.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, considering, and then nodded.  There was a strange sensation of moving time, or…

Qui-Gon shook his head, clearing his vision free of what he’d seen—or perhaps, not-seen.  They were still on the platform, but shipping crates were sitting nearby, stacked next to a small freighter.  A one-man fighter of unknown make was parked next to the first ship.  A human male, dressed in clothes with a military cut but no military designation, was lying face-down on the platform, dead. 

Several feet away from them stood a humanoid female wearing skin-tight black leather.  She was pale-skinned, her face and bald head covered in different glyphs, and she carried two red-bladed lightsabers with curved handles.  She was not moving, frozen in position, but there was no mistaking the rage in her ice-blue eyes.  “That’s Ventress?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan nodded.  “That’s her,” he said, and sadness touched his eyes.  “She was someone’s Padawan, once.”

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon, his face lined with exhaustion and grief.  “I’m tired of this place,” he whispered.  “I want to get the hell out of here.”

Qui-Gon nodded, and took his partner’s face in his hands.  The beard was soft, despite its scraggly appearance, and was warm and wet against his palms.  “Then ground on what’s happening right now,” he murmured.  “Yinchorr, the Yinchorri Accord.  Senator Tikkes,” he added with a grin.

“Going to punt him through a wall, I _swear_ ,” Obi-Wan began grousing—

—and they were back, sitting on the floor in the basement of the abandoned inn, and in the circle of his arms Obi-Wan was gasping for breath and retching. 

“Dammit, you two!” Mace yelled.  “If you ever do that again in my presence, I’ll kick your asses!”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan said, coughing, but he was speaking to Qui-Gon.  “Think I’d learn to puke on my own robes.”

He found himself chuckling in relief.  “There have been worse things on them.”

“Everyone all right?” Micah asked, while Mace stalked off, grumbling under his breath.  “Don’t mind him.  He was scared shitless that you two were going to die on him _after_ we ended the damned war, and who wants to explain that crap to Yoda?”

Obi-Wan uttered a weak laugh.  “Qui-Gon…  Tell Terza…  I’m not doing that again.  I don’t care what fucking idea the Healers come up with.  I don’t want to find myself trapped there.  Someone else can go digging around in my subconscious, and welcome to it!”  His eyes fluttered, and he was asleep in the next breath.

“Come on,” Micah said, resting his hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulders.  “While hunting for glasses I found where the kids had set up a place to sleep.  He’ll be comfortable there.”

Qui-Gon lifted the unconscious man in his arms, surprised anew at the light weight of him.  Some days he was hard-pressed to remember that Obi-Wan had yet to finish growing, a reality that sometimes set his teeth on edge with how _wrong_ it seemed. 

He followed Micah down a short corridor and through an open doorway.  The room in question was lit only by a single glowing panel, casting everything in shadow.  There was a pallet close to the wall that had the least visible amount of Wookiee hair, and he settled Obi-Wan onto it.  Obi-Wan didn’t so much as twitch at the transition.

“I’m going to go see if there’s anything edible in those supplies,” Micah informed him quietly.  “I think you need a moment.”

Qui-Gon nodded, raising weary eyes to his friend.  “You’re right, I do.  Thank you.  I’ll be out in a few minutes.”  Micah left, and Qui-Gon found a blanket that had not been chewed by pests, covering Obi-Wan up to his shoulders.  Then, daring to do something he had not done in two years, he stroked the hair just behind Obi-Wan’s ear—the hair that would have made up his Padawan braid. 

“Sometimes I wish this had never happened to you,” he whispered.  “It destroyed part of you, and I hate that there is nothing I can do about it.”

When Qui-Gon joined Micah and Mace later, after cleaning his robe in the first working ’fresher, Micah handed him a refilled glass of brandy.  He took a sip, glad for the warmth, and looked up to find the others seemed just as off-balance as he felt.  He opened his mouth to speak, closed it when words wouldn’t come, and set the glass aside. 

None of them had the slightest idea what to say.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Qui-Gon awoke the next morning, found his robe and wrapped himself in it against the chill, glad it had dried during the night after its necessary cleaning.  The pallet closest to the wall was empty, but Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan nearby, and the peaceful echo he could pick up through the bond told him that his partner was most likely meditating.

He left Micah sleeping and stepped out into the short corridor.  He could hear Mace, his voice low and quiet, and when he entered the main room Mace was sitting on one of the supply boxes, speaking with Adi via commlink.  “…on their way?”

“Not yet, but the others are starting to trickle out of bed, now,” Mace responded, nodding a greeting at Qui-Gon.  “Micah’s our straggler, and I’m tempted to kick him out of bed.  I’d forgotten how much that man _snores_.”

Qui-Gon grinned and hit the ’fresher, using the sink to make himself presentable for the day.  That done, he went to raid the supplies, intent on finding something for breakfast.  Digging through an open crate, he located something that was both edible and suitable for the human digestive tract.  He grabbed a second one, almost certain that Obi-Wan would have skipped breakfast, before ascending the ladder, climbing out of the open hatch.

Obi-Wan was on his knees next to the burnt remains of the inn’s south wall, his eyes closed.  If the bond hadn’t told him of his partner’s mental state, the dancing grains of sands floating in the air around him would have.  Qui-Gon watched, still just as fascinated by the sight now as he had been when he’d first witnessed it.

The sand halted in the air before falling to the ground with a sound much like frozen rain on duracrete, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes.  “Morning,” he said, lifting his arms in a stretch.

“Good morning,” Qui-Gon replied, the worry held over from last night fading as he took in Obi-Wan’s expression—open, unguarded, no signs of exhaustion, and the smile on his face genuine.  “You look far better than I expected,” he said, handing over one ration bar, keeping the other for himself.

“I _feel_ far better than I expected,” Obi-Wan agreed, peeling open the ration bar, taking a bite, and making an immediate face at the taste.  “Interesting choice,” he said diplomatically, continuing to eat.

Qui-Gon sniffed the bar and sighed.  “I think my translation skills are rusty,” he said, and shoved the offending ration bar in his mouth anyway.  It was worse than Obi-Wan had let on.  He forced himself to keep eating.  “I’m glad to hear it.  You slept well.  Better than Mace, anyway.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  “You know that line Healers like to spout, about how talking makes you feel better?”  Qui-Gon nodded.  “I really fucking hate it when they’re right.”

He laughed at the disgruntled expression on Obi-Wan’s face.  “I do as well.”  He’d balked at the Healers after Xanatos’s Fall, not wanting to listen to useless platitudes.  Then, years later, Obi-Wan had shoved his way into Qui-Gon’s life, so he’d talked to them if only to make sure he wouldn’t take out his rage and grief on his new Padawan.  Talking had helped more than he’d ever expected it to.

Obi-Wan had, too.

Qui-Gon sighed, thinking of the platform he’d stood on in a place that didn’t exist, rain pouring down on them both.  He didn’t want to push Obi-Wan back to that place of nothing, but he was almost certain his question was innocuous enough not to be problematic.  “How old were you, in that memory I saw?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if pained.  “If I answer you, will it be the last time you ask about that particular moment?  I don’t…even without straying too close to the block, I don’t really like that time in my life.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed, though now he almost wished he hadn’t asked.  “It was the only thing I was curious about.  I didn’t think it would hurt anything.”

Obi-Wan studied him for a long moment.  “I was thirty-five years old.”

 _Thirty-five standard.  Fifteen years from fifty._ Qui-Gon shook his head, saddened.  “I had thought it might be something like that.”

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I had a hard life, Qui-Gon.  It is what it is.”

Qui-Gon looked in his partner’s blue-gray eyes and saw the faintest hint of regret there.  _He was old before his time,_ Qui-Gon thought mournfully, and in the next moment the realization hit him like a blow to the back of his head.  He jerked back in shock, staring at Obi-Wan.

The old man on Tatooine he dreamed about on occasion.  The old man on Tatooine, Qui-Gon had mused, who seemed old before his time.  A man with shadows in his eyes.

Obi-Wan had lived on Tatooine for many years.  He’d told Qui-Gon so himself, when they’d rescued Anakin and Shmi.

Obi-Wan was that old man. 

“Force,” Qui-Gon whispered aloud, wondering how he had not seen it before.  Was he so willfully blind, or just oblivious?

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked him, giving him a perplexed look.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m—” and in that next moment they both felt it.  Danger, approaching fast. 

“Oh, fuck, now what?” Obi-Wan swore, his lightsaber already in his hand as he stood back to back with Qui-Gon. 

“I think we may be about to encounter the first Yinchorri who are less than pleased with the Accord,” Qui-Gon said, igniting his blade, comforted by the familiar _snap-hiss_.  He touched on the second pairbond, glad to find Micah already awake.  _We’ve got incoming!_

 _You are_ shitting _me_ , Micah replied in disbelief.  There was a rush of thought before he spoke again.  _Keep them busy.  Mace found another way out of here.  We’re going to nab the bikes and pick you up on the fly!_

He sent a quick flicker of acknowledgement, relaying the information to his partner.  Obi-Wan’s lightsaber ignited as the first speederbike approached.  On it was an armored Yinchorri warrior, and when he saw the Jedi waiting, he opened fire.

They worked in tandem, sending the blasts flying back towards the speederbike.  Only one tagged the bike, not enough to slow down the Yinchorri barreling towards them.

 _Three more!_ Obi-Wan sent.  _No, five!_

 _Five it is!_ Qui-Gon replied.  They gave up on back to back and faced down the oncoming bikes side by side, their blades moving together to return the laser blasts the Yinchorri were raining down on them.

The first bike arrived and soared overheard, and Obi-Wan drove his lightsaber up into the bike’s undercarriage.  Qui-Gon didn’t bother tracking the bike—he heard the impact of it loud and clear.  _Four left._

 _Three!_ Micah crowed, one of the bikes exploding just before Micah shot through the resulting fireball.  Mace was on his tail, firing a constant barrage that made the attacking Yinchorri scatter.  _I’ve got Obi-Wan!_ Micah announced, throwing out his arm as he flew straight for them.

Obi-Wan grabbed Micah’s hand, off of his feet and gone in a blink.  Qui-Gon held up his arm, felt himself jerked into the air as Mace took his hand in a firm grip. 

“Get up here!” Mace yelled.  Qui-Gon swung himself around, grabbing Mace’s shoulder and settling into place on the back of the bike.  “Where the hell did they come from?” Mace roared.

“I don’t know!” he shouted back.  “But we need to warn the others!  If they’ve come after us, they’re twice as likely to be attacked!”

“Comms are down, but Micah spoke to Garen.  The fleet comm’d and told Eeth and Adi that a warship is missing from the Yinchorri armada.  No idea when it snuck off, but I can damned well guess where it’s going!”

  _They’re going to attack the y’tineer,_ Qui-Gon realized.  If the Council was decimated, chaos would result, and the Accord would be useless.  Qui-Gon glanced back over his shoulder, wind whipping his hair over his face, and swore.  The three remaining bikes were right behind them, gaining fast.

“I see them!”  Mace floored the accelerator.  “Stay and fight, or try to outrun them?”

The Yinchorri bikes leapt forward, keeping easy pace with them, before raining fire at them again.  “Outrunning them is no longer an option,” Qui-Gon informed Mace, igniting his lightsaber again to deflect the blasts that came far too close.

 _The hell with this,_ he heard Obi-Wan say.  Qui-Gon glanced over to see that Obi-Wan had turned himself around on the bike and was standing up on the back struts, his lightsaber moving in a blur to protect himself and Micah.  There was a fierce light in his eyes and a grim smile on his face.

 _What the hell do you think you’re doing?_ Qui-Gon asked, and felt a flash of triumph when one of his deflected blasts hit the third Yinchorri, who uttered a long, pained howl.  Not a killing strike, but the pilot did fall back, more concerned with his wound than with speed.

 _Going to go pick out a new speeder, Qui,_ Obi-Wan replied, and launched himself into the air. 

The Yinchorri on Micah’s tail hadn’t expected his targets to come after him, and he let loose a startled screech that was cut off when Obi-Wan crashed into him.  Qui-Gon watched in alarm as Obi-Wan struggled for dominance over the speeder with someone easily three times his size. 

The nearest Yinchorri pulled up alongside Obi-Wan and his opponent, pulling out a blaster and taking aim.  Obi-Wan glanced up, saw the blaster, and ducked just as the Yinchorri fired.  The pirate Obi-Wan had been struggling with fell off the speeder and slammed into the blurred sands below, leaving Obi-Wan to take control of the bike.  The remaining pilot let loose an angered bellow, but before he could fire again Obi-Wan’s lightsaber sliced through the Yinchorri’s hand at the wrist.

To Qui-Gon’s surprise, the Yinchorri didn’t let a little thing like amputation stop him.  He growled, hissed, and slammed his bike into Obi-Wan’s, who mouthed a curse and cut his speed, falling behind the Yinchorri before opening fire.

The bike blew apart, and in front of him Mace let loose with a Haruun Kal battle cry.  “Damn, he’s good!”

“I’ve been telling you that for years!” Qui-Gon yelled back.

 _He’s having all the fun!_ Micah said, sounding far too cheerful as he dropped back to flank Obi-Wan.  The last Yinchorri hesitated, seeing how the odds had shifted, before he gunned the bike’s engine and fired at them.  Qui-Gon deflected a shot that came close, but the pirate was targeting Obi-Wan and Micah, not them.

Micah shouted in surprise, one of the Yinchorri’s blasts managing a lucky tag on his bike.  The bike shuddered before Micah gained control of it, though a long, steady plume of black smoke was leaking out the back.  _Dammit!_

Obi-Wan shook his head before laying his lightsaber so that the blade jutted out to the left, extending beyond the bike’s handlebars.  Then he slammed on the brake, dropping his speed to nothing in the space of a heartbeat.

The Yinchorri, who’d been almost upon them, couldn’t compensate in time.  He drove right through the ignited blade.  The bike’s front end and the unfortunate Yinchorri’s torso severed, and all three fell to the desert floor.  The remaining part of the bike blossomed fire at the impact.

 _My bike’s done,_ Micah said, falling further and further behind.  _Tell Mace to keep going.  They’re going to need your help._

Mace must have overheard, or had already come to the same conclusion.  He increased the bike’s speed until the throttle whined in protest.  Qui-Gon wanted to argue, especially when he felt the Force trill that warning sense of danger about Micah once more.  There was an even stronger sense of danger coming from the _y’tineer_ , though.  He knew Micah was right.

 _I’ve got Master Giett,_ Obi-Wan said, his speeder bike coming to a gentle rest next to Micah’s when his bike finally gave up and stalled.  They were already so distant that Qui-Gon could see only vague shapes.  _We’ll catch up._

Obi-Wan was just as aware of the danger to Micah as Qui-Gon, and had long been determined to see to Micah Giett’s continued well-being.  _Stay safe,_ he sent to them both.

 

*    *    *    *

 

The moment he halted the bike, the engine died.  Obi-Wan hit the starter, kicked the lines, and then took a moment to rest his head on the handlebars, breathing out another spike of adrenaline from the impromptu fight.  The bike had probably taken damage when the Yinchorri had crashed into its side.

There was faint, pleased humor from Qui-Gon as he sensed what had happened.  Obi-Wan knew that his partner would be quite happy if they never made it to the battle, especially if it kept Micah out of harm’s way…but they were needed.  Obi-Wan could feel it, like the thrum of electricity underneath his skin.

Micah snorted in amusement when his own bike guttered as he tried to restart it.  A second gout of blue-black smoke trailed out of the burners.  “Hope this doesn’t mean we’re walking.”

“Same here, Master Giett,” Obi-Wan agreed, dismounting.  It was only another thirty-two kliks to the _y’tineer_ , but without a transport, even running at full, Force-enhanced speed, it would take some time to get back.

Micah rolled his eyes.  “You know, after the past few days, that’s quite enough of that.  Call me Micah, or Master Micah if the Padawans are hanging around, especially if you’re going to keep sleeping with _my_ Padawan.”

Despite everything, a blush still warmed Obi-Wan’s cheeks.  They hadn’t bothered to be discreet, him and Garen, but it was still strange to discuss it.  “We’re not…you know.”

“Exclusive?  Contemplating a long-term relationship?” Micah shook his head. “I gathered that.  My Padawan knows his heart, and I understand that he sought you out for friendship, not romance.”

“Micah, Garen doesn’t do romance even when he _is_ trying to be romantic,” Obi-Wan said, and the Master laughed in response.

“True enough.  And by the way, one more thing?”  When Obi-Wan waited, curious, Micah gave him an uncharacteristically stern look.  “You and Qui-Gon have been looking after me like fucking mother hens.  I’m not blind, Obi-Wan; I’ve heard the Force trilling secrets about my demise in my ear for the past six months.”

He managed a smile.  “Qui-Gon just doesn’t want to drink that slop you like, Micah.”  _And neither do I._

“Good.  I don’t plan on dying any time soon, no matter what the Force is saying about the matter.  Now then,” Micah said, and the sternness faded, replaced by his usual smile.  “Let’s fix this fucking bike and get back.  They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

Obi-Wan nodded, using his lightsaber to take out the panel that protected the bike’s innards.  They both set to the task of making the uncooperative speeder fly again.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Garen rushed out of the communications room, leaving Kardek hissing and growling in his wake.  He wasn’t a skilled Force-runner, but his height and legs gave him one hell of a stride, and in moments he was at Master Gallia’s side. 

“They’re coming!” he gasped out, sliding to a halt.  “One of the warships, the _Sethserek_ , Speaker Kardek says.  Full complement of warriors—two hundred plus.”

“Dammit,” she said, biting her lip while giving the skies a fierce glare.  “Any suggestions from our allies?’

“Kardek says that Captain Fratek will assume we’ll have holed up in the _y’tineer._   He’ll send an invasion force down to deal with us while raining fire at us from topside.  The guns on the _Sethserek_ won’t penetrate the _y’tineer_ bunker—”

“But it’ll make it damned hard for us to keep the lot of them outside where they belong,” Adi finished.  She turned her head, scowling.  “And just what are you two doing here?”

Garen turned, surprised to find Eve Koh grinning at the Jedi Master.  Thol Heeniir, standing with her, merely raised an eyebrow.  “We’re defending the _y’tineer_ , same as you.  We gave up our careers for this blasted Accord, you know.  No decent smuggling outfit will have us, not after we’ve sided with the Jedi,” the Firrerreon man said, his blaster rifle casually resting on his shoulder. 

Adi looked like she wanted to argue, so Garen decided to save them all some time.  “Let it go, Master Gallia.  I trust them to survive this.”

“That’s good to hear,” Eve said, her hand resting on the blaster nestled in the holster at her waist.  “Though our luck would be better with a plan.”

“We need to take out that ship,” Adi said.  “But right now I haven’t a clue how to do it.”  She paused.  “Though, we’re about to get a boost.”

Garen grinned, hearing the distinctive whine of a speeder bike approaching.  Within moments the bike slammed to a halt nearby, and Master Windu and Master Qui-Gon joined them.  His grin widened; they both looked ready to beat back the approaching Yinchorri with their bare hands.  “Masters,” he greeted them.

“Obi-Wan and Micah?” Adi asked, already knowing of the uncooperative bikes.

“On their way,” Qui-Gon said, giving Thol and Eve a quick glance before nodding in appreciation of their presence.  Thol nodded back.  Eve, greatest of flirts and toughened Third of Villie Grahrk’s smuggling ring, _blushed_ at the Jedi Master’s regard.

Garen looked at Qui-Gon Jinn, took in the flashing blue eyes, wind-blown hair, and formidable expression, and bit his tongue to keep his amusement at bay.  _Okay, Obi-Wan.  I get it now._

 _Get_ what _now?_ Obi-Wan replied, sounding more than a little distracted. 

He blinked in surprise.  He hadn’t actually expected a response, but then again, Obi-Wan wasn’t that far away.  He still had to get used to this pairbond thing, it seemed.  _Never mind.  Just fly faster._

_Working on it!_

Garen turned his attention back outward, realizing that Adi had finished telling the new arrivals of the current situation.  Mace looked grim.  “How long until one of our own ships can reach us, Adi?”

“The fleet had spread out, searching for the whereabouts of the missing ship.  The moment the sensors picked up on the _Sethserek’s_ approach, Echuu launched the _Polysemy_ , but they won’t be here for at least a half-hour.”

“And the _Sethserek_ will be here in two,” Garen added, after a quick glance at his chrono. 

“Then we’ll take the _Starlight_ up and engage the damned thing ourselves,” Qui-Gon said, crossing his arms.  “Between us and the flagships from the Temple, we can keep them at bay until the _Polysemy_ arrives.”

Mace nodded.  “Works for me.  Garen, I want you to take Thol Heeniir and Eve Koh into the _y’tineer_ with you, and find Master Koth.  He’ll know the best way to prepare the _y’tineer_ to repel invaders.  Adi, find Dama Ro.  I want the two of you working with the surviving security squad for the _y’tineer_ , prepping an outer defense.  If something goes wrong on our end, we’ll need you to keep them the hell away from the Council.  I know there are other squads nearby—”

Adi shook her head.  “We can’t raise anyone.  Kardek and Petak already tried.  No one’s certain as to what’s going on, but it isn’t good.”

Dama Ro dashed out of the _y’tineer’s_ entrance, saw them, and ran over.  “Bad news,” the Master said, his unlit lightsaber gripped in his hand.  He was furious; Garen could feel clipped, restrained anger lurking just below the surface of his ebony skin.  “Volk’s dead.”

“What?” Mace thundered.

Dama Ro nodded.  “Blaster to the head, while he was resting.  Petak is…Sith hells, Petak’s in vengeance mode.  Master Koth is keeping him calm, but no one can find Sothek or Jorek.”

“Go,” Adi insisted, snagging her lightsaber from her belt.  “Time for a new plan.  I’ll go to the _Starlight_.  Padawan Muln is a better pilot than most of us, and I can co-pilot for him.  Koh, you’re with us.  Thol Heeniir says you’re a crack shot—can you fire ship-based weaponry?”  Eve looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes at the question, but she nodded.  “The rest of you, find our missing councilors, and get ready for anything that slips through our path!”

Mace gave Adi a quick grin.  “Yes, ma’am.  Let’s move it, people!” he barked, and the group scattered.

Garen glanced at his chrono as he ran.  Thirty seconds until the _Sethserek_ hit atmosphere.

 

*    *    *    *

 

It was dumb luck that they found Sothek as they raced back down the _y’tineer’s_ primary hallway.  The disgraced Speaker saw them, hissed out a curse, and ran.

“He’s mine!” Mace growled, launching himself ahead of the others.  Qui-Gon shook his head and followed on his heels, leaving Dama Ro and Thol Heeniir to find Eeth, Kardek, and Petak.

Well-timed use of the Force sent Sothek sprawling.  He came up, his blaster spitting red fire at them. Mace’s dark blue lightsaber intercepted the blasts, and Qui-Gon punched forward with his fist, the motion accompanied by a brief flare of concentration.

The blaster flew out of Sothek’s grip, landing in a clatter of broken pieces somewhere down the hall.  Before the Yinchorri Elder had the chance to even protest, Mace had him pinned up against the wall in a fierce grip. 

“Going somewhere, Speaker?” Mace bit out.

“Yes!” Sothek retorted.  “Away from this death trap!”

“Oh, but we’d planned on the pleasure of your company for a bit longer,” Mace replied, a humorless grin on his face.  “Especially after your farewell to Elder Volk.”

“What?”  Sothek’s eyes widened, the split pupil of his eyes turning into a line of shock.  “Elder Volk is dead?”

“Killed by a blaster shot to the head.”  Mace shoved the Yinchorri against the wall again, harder.  “Tell me what happened, Sothek, or I’ll hand you over to Petak’s family without a second thought!”

Sothek glanced at Qui-Gon, who stared at him impassively, then looked at Mace.  “I swear upon the blood of my family that I did not kill Elder Volk.  But you, _Jeedai_ , you should seek Jorek.  He is not willing to let this go.  I do not wish to stay here and die, but neither do I wish to see this Accord finished.  It is a good plan, better than the one Jorek convinced us to follow.”

Mace frowned, releasing the Yinchorri and letting him regain his footing.  “Jorek was behind the alliance with Vilmarh Grahrk’s people?”

Sothek nodded.  “Yes.  He is obsessed with victory for his people, _Jeedai_ Windu, and his rage with Elder Volk for signing the Accord was vast.  If he has escaped this _y’tineer_ , then you should fear for all of your people.  He will not rest until he has the victory he wants.”

“Qui-Gon?” Mace asked, glancing up at him.

Qui-Gon nodded in response.  “He’s speaking truthfully, Mace.”  The fear surrounding the Yinchorri Speaker was palpable, but no word he had spoken had the ring of falseness to it.  “He left out a few things, I’m certain, but for now it doesn’t matter.”

Sothek hissed, narrowing his eyes.  “I will stay and fight with my Council, _Jeedai_.  When this battle is over, I will tell you about Jorek’s alliances— _all_ of them.”

Qui-Gon gave Sothek a grim smile.  “I look forward to it.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

They had just hit the boarding ramp for the _Starlight_ when blaster bolts poured out of the open hatch.  Garen spun to the side, felt heat rush alongside his face, and hit the dirt.  Adi’s lightsaber ignited; Eve let out an angry, pained cry.

“Jorek!” Adi yelled.

She was answered by more blaster fire.  Adi blocked most of it, giving Garen time to regain his footing and ignite his own lightsaber.  He was not great at this—good enough to survive, to protect others, but directing the shots along a new course was something he was still working on. 

“Are you all right, Eve?” he asked, throwing the words back over his shoulder.

“Yeah.  The scaly prick nailed my arm, but I’ll live,” Eve replied, and her blaster began spitting back at Jorek.  “I can’t see him!”

Garen ducked behind Adi, motioned for Eve to join him.  He killed his blade, attaching his lightsaber back to his belt, and pulled the strap for his blaster rifle over his head.  “Got an idea, Master Gallia!” he called.

“Hurry up!” she responded, busy fending off the continuous laser blasts.  “We need him off of this ship before the _Sethserek_ is on top of our heads!”

Eve raised an eyebrow as he made short work of cannibalizing the blaster rifle.  “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Garen grinned.  “My Master is the primary Combat Instructor for the entire Temple.  You should see what he can pull off with grease, a few cleaning products, and some scrap metal.”

Eve grinned back as Garen held up the blaster.  “Ready, Master!”

“Go!  Eve, cover Garen!”

He ducked out from behind the shelter of Master Gallia’s wine-colored blade, pelting for the boarding ramp on a zigzag.  Blaster shots zipped past him, flying in both directions, before he pulled the trigger and tossed the rifle up into the hold of the _Starlight._

The weapon uttered a stuttered _poof_ of exploding gasses, and smoke filled the hatchway.  He was already halfway up the ramp, holding his breath with his green blade lighting his path, before he heard Adi rushing to join him.

 _Where are you, you scaly bastard—_ Garen halted, sensing Jorek run by, and thrust his lightsaber out without thinking.  Jorek squealed, and then a massive shape caught him across the chest, throwing him into a bulkhead.

Garen shook his head to clear it, straining to breathe and scrabbling back onto his feet.  He ran forward, only to hear more blaster shots.  Adi made a pained sound, followed by more angry shouting and blaster shots from Eve. 

The gas was clearing; he could make out Adi’s shape, saw that the Jedi Master was struggling to regain her footing.  She was holding her jaw, glaring daggers at the boarding ramp.  “Are you all right?” Garen yelled, ducking out into the fresh air on the ramp.

“Wilbee,” Adi slurred, still holding her jaw.  “Fugger nailed me!  Frackin’ tailsss!”

“Eve!” he said, spying the girl lying in the dirt at the bottom of the ramp.  “What happened?”

“The bastard shot me!  He shot me _again!_ ” Eve yelled back, furious.  She was struggling to get up, and Garen made it down the ramp in two strides to help her.  Her left arm was scorched and red, bleeding from hits in two different places.  “Going to live,” she assured him.  “Going to fuck him up when I find him!” she roared out at the desert, though Jorek was nowhere to be seen.

It didn’t take them long to find out what Jorek had been up to.  The controls for the mounted turrets on the _Starlight_ were shattered, still spewing sparks at anyone who ventured too close.

“Damnf!” Adi swore through her broken jaw.  “Hopef th’ bridge controlth are seth!”

The weapons control station on the bridge was a broken wreck.  Garen stared at it for a long moment before strapping himself into the pilot’s seat anyway.

“What are you doing?” Eve wanted to know, working to wrap the burns on her arm.  “This ship’s next to useless without weapons, and I didn’t think you were the running sort.”

“I’m _not_ running,” Garen retorted, frowning as he worked to bring the _Starlight_ up to full power, skipping pre-flights and making alarms trill in the process.  He’d flown ships this size before, but never in a battle.  Hell, he hadn’t even done a battle _simulation_ for a cruiser yet.  He was sweating as he cut the alarms, hoping he hadn’t skipped something critical.  “We can’t let that ship launch an attack against the _y’tineer_ , Eve.  We’ll lose the Accord, and probably lose our friends in the process.”

Adi was strapping herself into the co-pilot’s station, leaving Eve to swear and take up the safest available chair at navigation.  “I hate atmospheref fighths,” she said.

“You and me both, lady,” Eve replied.  “This is crazy.  What are we going to do, taunt them?”

Garen shrugged and slammed his hand down on the repulsors.  “Sounds good to me.”  He grinned as the ship rose willingly into the air, and engaged the thrusters.  “Hang on!”

“To what, my stomach?  Too late!” Eve retorted, her voice ending on a high note as Garen gunned it for the sky.  He could see the glint of metal far above them, which grew larger as he approached.  Then he gritted his teeth as something touched him in the Force, sharp and short and gone in the next breath.  “What was—”

“Thoseth were th’ Templth shipsss,” Adi whispered, her eyes wide and shocked.  “They’re gone.”

“Sith,” Garen muttered.  More than likely he knew those pilots, he’d spent so much time in the Temple hangars.  _Clear skies, my friends,_ he thought, blinking his eyes to clear them.  “Let’s make that Yinchorri cruiser _dance_.”

He shot forward, strafing the underside of the _Sethserek_.  The destroyer answered him by firing at the _Starlight_ as they passed by.  Several boards lit up red, but he ignored them, concentrating on spinning the cruiser around to run at the Yinchorri again.

“Fuck _me_!” Eve cried.  “This giant bucket of sloth shouldn’t be able to move like this in atmosphere!”

“I said he wass goodt!” Adi exclaimed.  She hit a switch, shut off the blare of an alarm, and hit a second switch.  He felt a jolt through the ship as one of the salon pods blew off and headed straight for the _Sethserek_. 

Garen let out a whoop as it impacted, throwing the Yinchorri ship off-course and releasing a cloud of fire from the hull.  “Do that again!”

Adi went to comply, then froze mid-motion.  “No time!” she exclaimed, fighting to keep her words clear.  “They’re dropping shuttlesth,” she said, and Garen noticed them, too.  “That’ss three already.  We have to keep t’em from dropping more!”

He thought about it, glanced at the controls, and then paused.  When he looked over at Adi, she was staring back at him.  “Can we?” Garen asked, swallowing against the fluttering nerves in his stomach as he contemplated the idea.

Adi nodded, narrowing her eyes.  “Yesth.”

“Man, Judicial’s going to have my pay until I retire.”  Garen drew in a deep breath and resisted the urge to panic.  Panic wouldn’t help.  “Okay, then.  Ramming speed, coming up.”

“You’re going to _what?_ ”

“Ram them.  Eve, this is a consular ship of the Judicial fleet, fitted with more pods than just the one Master Gallia launched.  We’re _sitting_ in one of those pods,” Garen explained, wrestling with the controls.  He had to line this up right, and time it well.  The _Sethserek_ wasn’t very maneuverable, but they still had weapons, while shields on the _Starlight_ were already failing. 

“Boosting forward shields to maximum,” he said tersely.  “Here’s hoping they don’t blow our engines off before we make this count.  Master Gallia, be ready.  Eve, if you’re not already strapped in, you’d better do it now.  These pods are an utter bitch when they launch.”

“Shit.”  He heard Eve fighting with her restraints.  “If I get paid for helping out, I want a raise.”

“Me, toof,” Adi said, her hands resting on the controls.  The first safety was already off-line.  “Go!”

 

*    *    *    *

 

The explosion of the Yinchorri frigate and the _Starlight_ sent a shockwave out through the atmosphere for kilometers, along with the intense roar of decompressing air and fire that broiled the sky.

 _Holy balls!_ Garen yelped through the pairbond.

Then the bike jumped, riding the shockwave as it hit.  Obi-Wan swore, hauling the recalcitrant machine back on course.  He heard Micah repeat the sentiment, tightening his grip around Obi-Wan’s waist. 

“I think your Padawan just outdid you in terms of Judicial property destroyed for this mission!” he yelled.

“You think?” Micah replied as the bike settled again, though not without an ominous sound from the engine.  “I don’t know whether to be proud or to ground him!”

Obi-Wan hit the accelerator again, ignoring the sputter of complaint from the bike.  “I see four shuttles!”

“Then they got off over a hundred of the bastards before the ship blew!”

One hundred Yinchorri warriors, all of them pissed off and armored.  Obi-Wan shook his head.  They’d certainly faced better odds.  _Qui-Gon._

There was recognition, but his partner was distracted, and it was a moment before there was a verbal response from Qui-Gon.  _Almost here?_

 _Almost.  They launched four shuttles before Garen blew the Yinchorri frigate out of the sky with a game of chicken.  They launched the bridge pod, but it’s coming down some distance away._   Unless it could be encouraged to land near a settlement with swift transportation, Adi, Garen, and Eve were out of the fight for the immediate future.

Micah was close enough, physically and mentally, to overhear.  _All right, so I’m not grounding him.  In the meantime, there are approximately one hundred Yinchorri headed your way, and we’ve got zero air support._

Another pause, and Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon relaying the information to the others.  _The first shuttle has already landed.  We’re heading out to deal with our guests.  Mace wants to know if you two can do something to even up our odds a bit._

Obi-Wan looked skyward, sharpening his vision.  Three shuttles were still in the air, though two of them would be on the ground and unloading Yinchorri before the abused speederbike would be able to catch up.  The third, however…  

He pulled up the nose of the bike and released the lock on the repulsors.  They shot upward like a bolt, gaining height and closing in on the shuttle.  The bike had a limited altitude range, but it was more than enough for what he intended.

 _I think Obi-Wan’s got an idea,_ Micah told Qui-Gon.  _Heh.  Looks like another game of chicken._

 _If I have to pry the two of you off of a shuttle viewscreen, I will be very cross,_ Qui-Gon replied grimly.  _Second shuttle’s here._

 _Good luck,_ Micah sent, managing to sound cheerful.  _Don’t die._

 _See you soon,_ was Obi-Wan’s rejoinder, and they both felt Qui-Gon’s focus turn elsewhere.

“Are you any good at self-levitation?” Obi-Wan asked, pushing the throttle open as far as it would go.  The bike coughed at him, but they didn’t lose speed.  The third shuttle was close.  Almost time.

“Not bad,” Micah said, and Obi-Wan could sense the older man’s amusement.  “Why?”

“I’m thinking of crashing this bike into the shuttle once they’ve lowered their shields for landing.”

Micah’s hand gripped his shoulder.  “Sounds good.  Just don’t forget to get _off_ of the bike before we hit.”

Obi-Wan grinned.  “Yes, sir.”

If the crew of the shuttle saw them coming, they didn’t seem to know what to do about it.  The boarding ramp was already lowered, the shuttle still a few hundred meters from landing.  He could see the faint outline of several Yinchorri warriors riding the ramp.  Obi-Wan smiled.  He’d thought they would rush it, and you couldn’t ditch your cargo without dropping your shields. 

“Let’s do this!” Micah yelled.

Obi-Wan held on until the last possible second, veering away from the haphazard blasts the shuttle crew belatedly aimed in their direction.  Micah went first, launching himself off of the bike and letting himself fall.  Obi-Wan jammed the accelerator into place and leapt.

The bike went straight through the transparisteel of the shuttle’s forward viewscreen, and a brilliant jet of white fire belched out of the destroyed cavity.  Obi-Wan saw it, and threw up his arms to protect his eyes.  The shuttle groaned in midair before diving, falling in an uncontrollable spin to the desert floor.

It exploded on impact.  The force of it rushed past him, fingers of heat pushing along the shield he’d erected.  Obi-Wan rolled over in the air and dropped his arms to his sides, cutting his wind resistance so that he would fall faster.  Micah was already touching down on the ground, his cloak billowing out behind him as he ignited his remaining orange blade and engaged the closest Yinchorri.

           

*    *    *    *

 

Qui-Gon launched himself with a growl, slamming into the nearest Yinchorri with his uninjured shoulder and sending the soldier flying.  It was too bad there were already three more waiting to take his place.  Qui-Gon had his lightsaber in a white-knuckled grip, fighting against the endless wave of Yinchorri warriors.  The air was full of laser blasts and the putrid stink of melting slugs.  The squads from the _Sethserek_ had blasters and slugthrowers of so many different makes and models it was hard to keep track.

“Fall back!” he heard Mace yell.  “There’s too damned many of them!”

Mace’s words were a blasted understatement if he’d ever heard one.  “To the _y’tineer!_ ” Qui-Gon yelled, catching Thol Heeniir's attention.  The Firrerreon grabbed the shoulder of the nearest Yinchorri squad member he’d been working with, shouting in his ear.  The Yinchorri captain hissed and then howled out a long, low note.  His squad, their bronzed armor glinting in the sun, began bulldozing their way back into the _y’tineer_ courtyard, sending purple-armored Yinchorri from the _Sethserek_ flying.

Qui-Gon grabbed Thol’s arm and yanked him out of the way of a blaster shot that would have taken the man’s head off.  Thol shouted his thanks and turned his blaster rifle onto the Yinchorri that almost beheaded him, firing steadily, his lip upcurled.  The Yinchorri squealed in agony as his Cortosis armor overheated and broke apart.

Qui-Gon crossed into the courtyard and spun around, throwing himself down on the ground when a glint of steel caught his eye.  A thrown blade went flying through the air where he had stood. 

Mace was next to him in the time it took him to blink, giving him a hand up.  His expression was, in a word, grim.  “We’re not going to hold out until the _Polysemy_ gets here,” he said, and they moved to fight together, back to back, as an unending flood of Yinchorri spilled into the courtyard, hissing and howling.

Qui-Gon took in a deep breath of air, the first one free of dust he’d had since the fighting had begun.  Eeth Koth was inside, standing guard over Kardek, Petak, and Sothek, acting as their last line of defense.  He hadn’t seen Dama Ro since the third shuttle had landed, and feared the worst.

Two Jedi Masters, an ex-smuggler, and a handful of the surviving Council Honor Guard were the only things standing ready to stem the tide.  “I know,” he said, and then the wave washed over them.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Sothek listened to the roar of war, feeling the earth tremble above his head.  So many things to gather.  There was so much that he had helped Jorek to procure, but he had seen the truth when the red-haired _Jeedai_ had broken their hold on him, stealing their weapons with a simple gesture of his hand.  Sothek feared little, and war was in his blood, but he was no fool.  His people were nothing when the fury of the Republic had been stirred. 

He’d wanted to see the stars.  Knowing that his young children would be able to walk that path meant more to him than bathing those stars in blood.  The Yinchorri would hold sway in their own system, and have power outside of it as well by wearing something as simple as a uniform.  He shook his head, amused; uniforms, of all things.  Special clothing that was more significant, held more power, than any armor.  The Republic was a strange, strange place.

“Speaker Sothek.”

He turned in surprise, his hand going for the blaster that he had neglected to replace.  His hand grasped empty air as Jorek’s blaster fired, catching him in the chest.

“Jorek,” he breathed, scattering flimsiplast and datapads as he fell, a dead weight settling onto his chest.  He should have expected this.  An elder who would betray his people would, of course, betray his ally.

“Someone burned my collection to useless slag,” Jorek said, his tone light, conversational.  “Was it you, Sothek?  Did you tell them where to find it?”

Sothek wheezed, the air in his lungs no longer willing to leave his body for something as trivial as words.

“Ah, well.  There is more where that came from, and I’m sure I’ll be able to find a little toy somewhere that the _Jeedai_ will not so easily escape from.”  Jorek glanced around the room.  “Hmm.”

Sothek watched him ignite a fusion torch, and his eyes widened despite his oncoming death.  Jorek touched the flame to Sothek’s robes, and not even the spreading cold in his limbs could keep the pain of fire from his nerves.  He opened his mouth and could not scream.

“Appropriate, don’t you think?” Jorek asked, touching the flame to the stacks of flimsiplast, to the wall-hangings that Sothek’s mate had created during their first years together.  “The evidence of our work will be your pyre.  Farewell, old friend,” Jorek said, giving Sothek a chilling smile.  “I have an appointment with a foolish, red-haired _Jeedai_.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Later, Obi-Wan would think it had been inevitable.  They were trapped a half-kilometer from the _y’tineer_ , fighting a full squad of Yinchorri warriors among the wreckage of the downed shuttle.  Micah and Obi-Wan’s lightsabers had caught their attention like moths to glow panels, and instead of attacking the _y’tineer_ and Council of Elders, the squad had eyes for no one but them.

He felt fire run up his back from his waist to his shoulder and turned in place, ramming his lightsaber through the armor joints of the Yinchorri who’d wounded him.  In the same moment, he heard Micah scream.

Obi-Wan whirled, catching Micah in his arms before he could fall.  The scent-taste of copper overwhelmed him, and warmth was trickling through his fingers.  “Micah!”

“Think I’m…getting old,” Micah gasped out.  “Didn’t even…feel it coming!”

“No,” Obi-Wan whispered, his blood running cold.  _Not this, not after everything that’s happened!_   Micah’s tunics were turning bright red in the front, spreading outward from a wound on his side.  The Master’s skin turned ashen as he watched.

The closest Yinchorri laughed.  “Don’t worry, _Jeedai_.  We will send you to join him!” he said, raising his blaster rifle.

Obi-Wan looked up, staring down the barrel of the rifle.  There was only his heart, hammering in his chest.  Blood seeping through his fingers, unending.  Breath.  Once.  Twice.

 _Perception is everything—perception is the_ only _thing.  A moment is more than just a notch on a chrono, a blip in a life.  Time itself is nothing but perception.  With the right point of view, a moment can become eternity, bringing clarity of thought and purpose._

_Be in this Moment with me._

_Just be._

His heart beat.  Once.

Obi-Wan smiled.  “No,” he said.  He raised his hands and _pushed_.

The Yinchorri with the rifle went flying backwards.  His weapon clattered to bits against the closest rock.  As if they were struggling to fight in the water, the other Yinchorri readied to fire their rifles.

He turned, his hands tingling and burning, and there was so much light.  He could sense the others in the _y’tineer’s_ courtyard, encircled by stone walls and far too many Yinchorri.  Qui-Gon was bleeding; Mace was dropping far too deeply into the _vapaad_ , exhausting himself to keep the others and the _y’tineer_ defended.  Thol was trying his best to get everyone inside, but there was no place to retreat to, no place that wasn’t filled by armor and fire.

Second beat.

He waved his hand again, and every Yinchorri surrounding him and Micah was flung back, unconscious and unmoving, weapons destroyed.

He could sense the minds of the _Sethserek_ Yinchorri, riotous and snarling, ready to destroy the _Jeedai_ and their Council and their future on the order of a dead Captain.  He let part of that fire escape, feeling it touch all of those minds, causing them to fall mid-step.  _I said that no one was going to die, and I_ meant _it,_ he snarled.

“Obi-Wan.”  _Obi-Wan._

He turned, still half-blinded by the light reflecting back off of the desert sands.  Micah smiled at him.  _Hell of a sight.  Nice gift to a dying man._

Third beat.  _No,_ he said, the word full of refusal and every last bit of his own stubborn will.  Obi-Wan knelt in the sand next to Micah, found the wound easily enough.  Shattered femur, destroyed pelvis—so destroyed that bits of bone were utterly gone.  Femoral artery, torn and broken and leaking out every last drop of Micah Giett’s life. 

He placed his hands on those injured places, and let all of that white fire go.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Micah watched, and no amount of blood-loss kept his jaw from hanging open as he witnessed Obi-Wan’s arms turn white from the elbow down.  He could feel it, had a vague understanding of what Obi-Wan had done, but never in his life had he seen anything like it.  Not even Yaddle, with her command of Morichro, could wipe out an entire battlefield in the time that it took to blink.

Then Obi-Wan was at his side.  Micah looked into the young man’s eyes, saw distance and time and all of the things that he knew he was just on the verge of finding for himself.  Along with that came stark, stubborn refusal, and those white hands came to rest on his damaged, slug-destroyed insides.

Micah drew in a sharp breath, his eyes blinded by white fire, and was shocked when there was no pain.  This was Force-light, and it left only healing in its wake.  Not enough, not enough; he could feel that, knew that there was too much missing and scattered from the weapon’s impact. 

But he would live. 

The fire was gone as if it had never been.  Obi-Wan was shaking his head, as if dazed.  Gods. 

“Are you all right?” Micah asked, his voice somewhere between a squeak and a whimper.

“Feel light-headed,” Obi-Wan whispered, his voice hoarse.  “Are…are you—” He gasped, eyes wide, as the sharp crack of a blaster echoed across the desert sands.

“No!” Micah shouted, catching Obi-Wan in his arms when he faltered.  Micah looked up; Jorek was standing there, his tail lashing back and forth.  Faint threads of smoke were rising from the barrel of the pistol he held.

Jorek strode forward, ramming the barrel of the pistol against the back of Obi-Wan’s head.  “Your lightsaber—get rid of it,” he hissed at Micah.

Micah growled, frustrated when he discovered he was still too damned out of it to use the Force.  His vision swimming, he tossed his lightsaber out into the desert. 

“The other one, _Jeedai_ Kenobi’s lightsaber.  Toss it!” Jorek ordered, jabbing Obi-Wan with the blaster again.

 _Gods, gods, please let him be all right.  Qui-Gon will never forgive me if I let this boy die,_ Micah thought, fumbling to remove the lightsaber from Obi-Wan’s lax grip.  He threw the hilt, end over end, but it was a bad throw, complicated by Micah’s increasing dizziness, and the lightsaber landed only a short distance away.

“Pathetic,” Jorek sneered, turning and firing the pistol.  The shot was true, and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber blew apart in burst of sparks and bits of twisted metal.  Micah used his arm to guard Obi-Wan’s face, but couldn’t protect them both.  He hissed as hot metal showered his side, and took a moment to be thankful that the power cell hadn’t erupted and saved Jorek the trouble.

Jorek turned the pistol unerringly back to Micah, and Micah stared up at Jorek, wondering what the hell he was going to do, hoping he wasn’t going to repay Obi-Wan’s healing with getting them both killed.  Obi-Wan’s head was resting against his chest, and his shoulders were rising and falling with each breath he took, but the movement was far too shallow. 

 _Qui-Gon.  Qui-Gon Qui-Gon Qui-Gon it is time for you to even the score and save our asses!_ Micah shouted in his mind, unsure of whether he would be heard.  His body was no longer dying, but it was trying to keep his system running with only trace amounts of blood to feed him oxygen.  His hands were shaking as he held Obi-Wan, and drawing breath was an exercise in pain to avoid feeling like he was drowning.

“You have kept my people from their true path, _Jeedai_ Kenobi,” Jorek said, his words harsh.  There was a mad light in Speaker Jorek’s eyes, as if he’d spent too much time staring into Yinchorr’s sun.  “You will pay!” 

He kicked Obi-Wan viciously, glaring at Micah when there was no response.  “What is he saying?” Jorek shouted.

He heard it, then, a sound that had gone unnoticed with all of Micah’s attention on Jorek.  The words were soft, only in tune by nature of their timing and the lack of strength behind them.  Obi-Wan was singing.

He lowered his head, listening.  Obi-Wan was singing that damned awful ballad about Micah and Qui-Gon’s part in the Stark Hyperspace War.

Micah lifted his head and grinned at Jorek.  In the Force, he could now hear what he had been hoping for.  “You are so fucked,” he said, and Jorek went flying.

Qui-Gon leapt over the still-burning remains of the shuttle’s aft wing, his teeth bared, his lightsaber blazing.  Blood was running freely down his face from a cut on his forehead, turning his expression into a gruesome mask.   

Jorek got up, sand streaming from his robes.  He saw the Jedi Master coming, hissed in terror, and squeezed the trigger of his blaster as fast as it would fire.  The blasts were deflected harmlessly into the sand; Jorek was too panicked to be a real threat.

Micah saw movement.  “Qui-Gon!” he rasped, too weak to shout a warning as he saw Jorek reach—

Qui-Gon negated the threat by burying his lightsaber into Jorek’s chest.  The Speaker’s hands dropped, and he lowered his head, staring at the green blade in puzzlement.  He died in the next breath, and Qui-Gon yanked his lightsaber free and let him fall.

“What…what took you so long?” Micah wheezed, smiling.

Qui-Gon turned to him, and the battle rage in his eyes vanished.  “Force,” he whispered, dropping to his knees next to them.  “Force, you’re bleeding out, Mic!”

Micah shook his head.  “No, not…not anymore.  Not in the greatest shape, but I’m f—fine.  But…Obi-Wan’s hit, Qui-Gon.  Can’t—can’t tell where.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his lips compressed to a thin, worried line, as he ripped open the leather jacket along a jagged tear.  He ghosted his hands along Obi-Wan’s back, his fingers running through the blood-soaked fabric of Obi-Wan’s shirt.  Qui-Gon drew in a hissed breath.  “Spinal impact,” he murmured.  “Not bad,” he continued, his eyes half-closed, though his brow creased in worry.  “I think the Healers will be able to deal with it.”

Micah managed to nod.  “Hope they have…as much luck with me,” he said, and the dizziness he’d been fighting took over.  He grayed out to the sensation of Qui-Gon removing Obi-Wan from his arms, and was momentarily surprised by the feel of someone else’s gentle hands touching his face.  _Who…?_

 _Shut up, old man,_ Adi’s voice answered him, light and teasing with a fissure of worry underneath.  _Let me help you._

The last thing he heard was the whispered verse of some ancient tune, and it made him smile as unconsciousness claimed him.

 

*    *    *    *

 

 He woke up to brilliant white light, and it was like someone took long needles and jammed them through his eyes.  “Fuck _me,_ ” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to lift his hands to cover his face.  His hands didn’t seem to want to cooperate. 

“Well, that answers that question,” Obi-Wan heard Abella say.

That was so confusing that Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, and this time his head started pounding for good measure.  He gave in, closed his eyes, and whimpered.

“Turn the lights off, all the way off.  No, dim isn’t going to be good enough,” Abella said, issuing instructions to someone else.  “The psychic shock’s not as dealt with as Master hoped.”

 _What?_ Obi-Wan decided it would be stupid to open his eyes again, but psychic shock had never stopped his mouth from functioning.  “Where the hell did you come from?”

Abella giggled at him, and he heard footsteps approach.  Then something cool, soft, and blessedly _dark_ was laid over his eyes.  “Actually, they brought you to me, and gods, but why did you ever stop singing, Obi-Wan?”

 _What?  But I_ can’t _sing,_ he thought muzzily.  Warmth touched him, and it was a familiar sensation.  “You…drugged me,” he accused the Chitanook apprentice Healer.

“Yep,” she replied, far too cheerful.  “See you in another twelve hours or so.  Mind you don’t toss in your sleep and pull out the catheter again.”

“Evil…wench,” he slurred, and blacked out again.

The second time he woke up, the lights were on, but dimmed, and it didn’t hurt near as much to look at them.  He turned his head, hearing the tap of fingers hitting keys, and discovered that Micah was sharing a room in the Healers’ Ward with him.  The older Master was scowling at a datapad he was holding in his lap, tugging at the ill-fitting gown that was standard issue for patients. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

Micah looked up from what he was doing and smiled.  “Hey!  How ya feeling?”

Obi-Wan considered that for a minute.  His head was still aching, his throat was raw, and his tongue felt like a wad of cotton.  His arms and legs were tingling.  His back _ached._   “Like I’ve been shot,” he said.

“Yeah, same here,” Micah replied, grinning.  He tilted his head, and Obi-Wan followed the motion to find Qui-Gon curled up in one of the chairs from Terza’s office.  His partner’s head was pillowed against the wall, and his robe had become an impromptu blanket.  “I had Terza drug his tea,” Micah explained.  “He was so fucking tired that he didn’t even notice.”

“He’s going to be pissed,” Obi-Wan said, smiling.

“Eh, he’ll get over it.  He always does.  So, that thing you did on Yinchorr?” Micah continued on, holding up the datapad he’d been studying.  “I can find Morichro, I can find Sahtore, and I can even find battle meditation in the archives.  Not a one of them fits the definition of what you pulled off.”

Obi-Wan let his head fall back onto his pillow.  Micah was just as bad as Qui-Gon about jumping onto vast, complicated topics when their victims had just awoken.  “I know Sahtore.  Not so good at Morichro.  Battle meditation…”  He thought about it.  “No, I don’t know what the hell I did, either.  I just remember…”  Fire, white fire—and far too much light, it was like turning night into day…except that it had been day, already.

Micah nodded.  “Hmm.  Well, in case you hadn’t figured it out, that’s why you have psychic shock.  Be on the lookout for Healer Terza to give you a rundown on how you can’t just channel that kind of energy without training your body to deal with it.”

Obi-Wan uttered a weak laugh.  “Will try to keep that in mind,” he said, and the drugs must not have left his system yet, because he felt himself slipping under again.  He fought it, irritated, and lost anyway.

 

*    *    *    *

 

The third time Obi-Wan awoke, Qui-Gon was well-rested and muttering dire things at Micah through their pair-bond about the drugged tea, and being ignored for his efforts.  After speaking with Obi-Wan long enough to reassure himself that all was well, Qui-Gon slipped out into the closest garden to meditate.  He didn’t need Yoda, this time, to tell him that meditation was something that he sorely needed.

He settled onto the grass, enjoying the warm night air.  It didn’t take him long before his thoughts were drifting.  Meditation did not come, not yet, but he had a lot to think about.  In less than forty-eight hours, he had been part of an uprising, a treaty negotiation, and a civil war.  It was no wonder he was still exhausted.

Mace, Even Piell, Eeth Koth, and Saesee Tiin would return to Coruscant tomorrow afternoon.  The process for electing new members of the Yinchorri Council of Elders was complete, and worthy successors to Volk, Sothek, and Jorek were now in the midst of learning just what they’d gotten themselves into.  Two-thirds of Judicial’s fleet and most of the Temple pilots would then return to their regular posts, leaving the last third and a few guardian ships behind for the next few months to keep an eye on the Yinchorri military.  They did not need another _Sethserek_.

Then, tomorrow evening, the pyres would be lit.  He wasn’t looking forward to that.   

Qui-Gon sensed Micah’s approach and abandoned the grass for the closest bench.  “Move over, damn you,” Micah’s irritated voice muttered.  “Can’t you bestow some sympathy on your injured elder?”

Qui-Gon grinned.  “You’re my elder by thirteen days, Mic,” he said, patting the cool stone in invitation.  “Sit down before you fall down.”

Micah lowered himself onto the bench, sighing in relief.  He still didn’t look well, but his skin was no longer ashen, and he was spirited enough to argue his way out of the Ward.  “I am a Jedi Master.  I do not fall down.  Well, not without a lot of encouragement, at least.”  Qui-Gon’s grin faded at that, and Micah cuffed him gently on the shoulder.  “None of that, you.  Don’t mourn the living.  We have others who deserve those thoughts more.”

He nodded in agreement.  Knights Tieren Ne-Tan and Valan, Masters Suon and Dama Ro, a score of Temple pilots, and a frightening number of Judicial’s people had been killed, either on Coruscant during the Yinchorri infiltration of the Temple, or during the Uprising.  “Master Suon had a Padawan.  They’re—she’s distraught as hell, Mic.”

“Yeah.  She’s in good hands, though, or as good as can be, given the situation.”  Micah rested the metal staff Terza had given him on the bench.  “How’s Obi-Wan?” he asked.  “He was out again when I left.”

“He’s fine,” Qui-Gon said, glad he could say the words honestly.  The thought of Obi-Wan’s lacerated back, marred by vibroblade and blaster fire, floated up from his subconscious, and he shoved it away.  Of course, it was followed by the memory of what Micah’s tunics had looked like when he’d taken Obi-Wan from his friend’s arms, and that was almost worse.  “There will be no lasting physical damage, save scarring, and the damage to his spine healed well.”

“Are they still drugging him?  He’s gotten more sleep in the past few days than I think the two of you have managed in the past year,” Micah noted.

Qui-Gon smiled.  “Terza says that it’s a side effect of healing from psychic shock.  Sleep is the best way to recover from the strain.  He’s already proven that he can stand, so Terza told him that if he behaves, he’ll be released in the morning.  She also said,” he continued, “that you were supposed to go to your quarters when you left the Ward, not wander around the Temple.”

“Eh.  I’m just glad that we’ll both be mobile after this.  Physical therapy is going to be a bitch and a half, Qui-Gon,” Micah said, his voice soft.

“How are you?” Qui-Gon asked, looking hard at his friend.  Micah could do verbal evasions with the best of them, when he wanted to.  “How are you, really?”

Micah shifted in place, trying to get comfortable.  The brace on his leg jangled, and Micah glared at it.  “I want a quieter version of one of those, for starters.”  He settled down, both of them listening to the silence of the gardens. 

“I’m done with fieldwork for a long time, if I ever get out again,” Micah said at last.  “Terza and some of the others are blabbing about replacements and therapy, but…I don’t think so.  This feels permanent.  I think when Obi-Wan saved my life, he saved everything that there was to be saved.  It just wasn’t enough.  Not his fault—not anybody’s fault.  Anyway,” Micah grinned.  “Want to hear the latest gossip before it hits the Temple tomorrow?”

“Out with it.  What did you do now?” Qui-Gon asked, recognizing the spark of mischief in Micah’s eyes.

“I resigned from the Council.”

That was _not_ what he had expected.  “Resigned?  Mic, that’s crazy!”  The job was sedentary as it was—how much more sedentary did Micah want?

“Is it?” Micah asked, scrubbing at his face.  “Qui-Gon, I was already tired of the job.  I took it after Xanatos left, and I know I’ve been useful, but I’ve had enough for now.  I want to focus on other things for awhile.  Of course, I did recommend you to take my place.”

“You did not.”

Micah grinned again.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” Qui-Gon pleaded.  He did not want the job.  He had _never_ wanted the job.  The one time it had been offered to him, he’d looked at Councilor Tyvokka like the Wookiee had been out of his mind.  Yoda wouldn’t let him get away with turning it down twice.

“All right, I didn’t, if only because you know where I sleep,” Micah relented.  “But you see what I mean.  You’d go crazy, taking the job, and I’ve reached my limit for it.  Of course, I did ask Obi-Wan if he wanted the chair.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “That would be unusual.  What did he say?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed, unsurprised.  Obi-Wan tended to mutter dire things under his breath whenever the subject came up. 

Micah smiled.  “I want to live a mundane life for a change, or as mundane a life as a Jedi on the disabled list can manage.  Water the plants, wreak horrors upon the Initiates…” Micah trailed off, and when he looked at Qui-Gon there was hesitation in his eyes, a rare sight.  “May I ask you something?”

Qui-Gon nodded, intrigued.  “Of course, Micah.  You know you don’t have to ask.”

Micah chuckled, wincing as it pained still-healing injuries.  “Some questions deserve a preface.  Whatever became of you and Tahl?”

The question was so odd that it took him a full minute to process what Micah was really asking.  “What?  There was never anything to become _something_ in the first place.”

Micah rolled his eyes.  “Could’ve fooled me.  Could’ve fooled most of the Temple, Qui-Gon.  For a while there, most of us were convinced that you two were going to be our next pair of bonded mates.”

“Seriously?”  Qui-Gon thought about an earlier conversation with Obi-Wan, shared over tea and the sweet scent of leather radiating from his gift to his partner.  “At one time…perhaps there was potential, a thread or two of it, but there was nothing beyond that, especially as Tahl has said flat-out that a relationship between us would be impossible, because I drive her crazy.”

Micah laughed.  “Tahl says that about everyone.”

Qui-Gon smiled.  He understood what was going on now.  It was about damned time, too.  “Not everyone,” he mused with a thoughtful air.

“You’re kidding,” Micah said.  “Tell me, Qui-Gon, who is this exalted person that she claims never drives her crazy?  We simply _must_ meet!”

He chuckled.  “Look in a mirror, my friend, and all will be revealed.”

Micah gaped at him, one of the rare times when the man was at a loss for words.  “You're full of it.”

“I am not,” he said, hiding a smile.

“Prove it!” Micah demanded.

“Ask her and find out,” Qui-Gon replied.

“Bastard,” Micah grumbled.  Then he looked up, and the hesitant look was joined by hope.  “I suppose I'll have to do just that.  You think Tahl is awake at the moment?”

“The woman never sleeps, Mic, you know that,” Qui-Gon said.  “Our friend is the epitome of the caffeine junkie.”

“Right.”  Micah struggled to gain his footing with the help of his staff, and swayed alarmingly before getting his balance.  “I—oh, fuck, Qui-Gon Jinn.  She’s going to think I’m a great, lumbering _idiot_.”  Qui-Gon snorted, amused.  “So!  If you and Tahl never hooked up, is there anyone else the great Master Qui-Gon has his eye on?”  Micah teased, leering at him.  

Qui-Gon sighed.  “You're teaching your Padawan bad habits.  No wonder Garen turned into such a lecherous young man.”

“Well?”

“Of course there isn't,” he snapped.  “I'm a bit too busy for romantic entanglements.”  Qui-Gon crossed his arms, glowering, when Micah continued to stare at him.  It was a touchy subject, one that he did not talk about easily. 

Or at all.

Micah smiled, and the look was far too secretive for Qui-Gon’s liking.  “Really.  Well then, my old friend, as we used to sing in the creche:  I know something you don't know....” 

“Go to bed, Micah.  Or go see Tahl.  Pick one.”

“Aren't you even the least bit curious?”

“No, Micah.”

“Liar.”

Qui-Gon grinned and shook his head.  “I'm old enough to know that all things reveal themselves in time. If such a person exists, then I’ll see the truth of it sooner or later.”

“You say that now, Qui-Gon,” Mic shook his head, hobbling off with one last parting shot.  “Just wait till you see who I suggested should take my seat on the Council.”

He was able to settle into meditation after that, though he had to admit to intense curiosity as to Micah’s choice.  The Force was quiescent, the tangled mass of threads gone as if they had never been there.  He frowned; there was something dark ahead, distant and whispering of things that had yet to be. 

It was one of the few times Qui-Gon was glad to have his comm interrupt his meditation.  He blinked, clearing the dredges from his thoughts, and answered the call.

“Master Jinn, this is Master Jil-Hyra.”

At first, he couldn’t place the name, and then he recognized the newest Master on duty in the creche, appointed by the Council sometime last year.  “Master Jil-Hyra.  What can I help you with?”

“Initiate Skywalker seems to have wandered off again,” she said, her voice warm, touched with humor.  “Master Terrilanar isn’t concerned, but I do like knowing where the little scamps under my charge are.”

Qui-Gon smiled.  “Master Jil-Hyra, I have a very good idea as to Anakin’s whereabouts.  I’ll let you know, but if he’s where I think he is, I believe it would be good for Anakin to remain there for the night.”

There was a long pause.  “Ah.  You’re speaking of Knight Kenobi, the young man who found Anakin on Search.  Very well.  As long as he remembers to return for morning classes, and _asks_ me next time…”

“I’ll see to it,” he said.  Master Jil-Hyra bid him good night, and he shut down the comm.  He got up, stretched the kinks out of his back, shook the dew from his cloak, and made his way back to the Ward.

Terza met him in the hall outside of the patient wing, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a datapad in the other.  “If you’re looking for who I think you are, then good guess,” she said, waving the pad in the direction of Obi-Wan’s room before continuing on her midnight rounds.

Qui-Gon nodded his thanks, walking down to the room in question.  He halted in the doorway, and simply could not bring himself to move any closer.

Anakin had crawled into bed with Obi-Wan and was lying next him, sleeping with one of Terza’s short robes tucked around him.  His blond head was resting on an unoccupied section of Obi-Wan’s pillow.  Obi-Wan had thrown an arm over Anakin in his sleep, and both were oblivious to Qui-Gon’s presence.

In the past few months, several Masters had started dropping hints and making noises about asking Anakin to be his, her, or its apprentice.  At the rate Anakin was learning, he would be ready to become a Padawan within the next year, two at the most.

Looking at him now, Qui-Gon knew that those other Masters didn’t stand a chance.  Anakin had staked his claim long ago. 

 

*    *    *    *

 

Two shadows stood together in the darkened offices of Senator Palpatine of Naboo, studying one of the vid feeds that had been active in the Yinchorri Council’s _y’tineer_.  The cameras had been installed by the shorter of the two, before the Council had retreated into the bunker to begin their war.  On the screen were images of a black-haired human female and a dark-haired human male, the latter of whom towered over everyone save the accompanying Wookiee.  Leading them was the youngest, a red-haired human male with a pale blue lightsaber that matched his eyes.

“Do you think he knows, Master?” Maul whispered. 

Sidious shook his head.  “I am not sure,” he mused.  “Kenobi did manage to be in the right place at the right time, but then, he always excelled at that.”

“You should let me kill him, Master,” Maul said, and though his words were but a whisper, his Master smiled at the malice beneath.  Maul did not like competition, and knew of his Master’s intense interest.

“Perhaps I will allow you the chance one day soon, my dear Maul,” he said.  “I had hoped that the Yinchorri would have caused more destruction before the Accord.  I foresaw a great many more deaths.  Still, we have accomplished much.  Giett is off the Council, and his voice had been running counter to my wishes.”  He stepped forward, the light from the vid feed almost enough to break apart the shadows that obscured his features. 

Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, touched the screen, his fingers lingering for a moment on the face of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight.  “My dear General,” he murmured.  “How like him you already are.”

“Master?”

He shook his head, letting his hand fall away from the screen.  “It is no matter.  The Yinchorri have served their ultimate purpose.  Valorum’s position in the Senate has been weakened by war, short as the conflict was.”  Creating fear had been more important than creating destruction.  Destruction…that would come later, and it would be glorious. 

“As to the rest:  Our plans will proceed, Lord Maul.  We will wait, and we will watch.  The Jedi will reveal their hand soon enough.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan left the Ward in a tired daze, feeling off-balance and out-of-sorts after jumping from Yinchorr to Coruscant without being aware of the trip.  Terza had given him a raised eyebrow and a few things to keep an eye on, but had allowed Abella to escort him back to his quarters.  

The last remnants of shock left him struggling to ground himself.  In another day, perhaps two, he would be able to meditate and dispel the last of his disorientation.  In the meantime, Obi-Wan had just enough sense to sit on the couch in his quarters and not move.  He spent most of the day either dozing or trying to concentrate on a datapad, filling himself in on what had happened on Yinchorr after his and Micah’s injuries. 

When it came time to dress for the evening funerals, Obi-Wan discovered he was too stiff to pull his tunics over his head.  He sat on his bed, stared at his clothes, and tried to figure out what he was going to do.  Attending naked was certainly not an option.

When the tall form darkened his bedroom doorway, he smiled.  There were a limited number of people who could gain access to his quarters without difficulty.  “Was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”

Garen sat down on the bed next to him, a faint smile on his face.  “I’ve been busy.  Shit, have I been busy.  You missed the fun.  I thought Master Windu was going to pop a vein when I told him I didn’t want to be a Knight right now.”

Obi-Wan looked up, his attention caught by Garen’s words.  “You…wait.  What?”

Garen gave him a sympathetic look, and there were shadows in his eyes that Obi-Wan had seen before, but not for a number of years.  It felt wrong to see them again now.  “The Council wanted to Knight me, for Yinchorr.  I told them that they could sod off, because right now my Master needs me.”

Obi-Wan stared at him.  “I imagine that your Master was less than thrilled to hear that,” he managed.

Garen shrugged, a simple, listless lift and fall of his shoulders that spoke more of his frame of mind than any words.  “He was, at first.  I told him that this was the absolute wrong time for it, and I guess they must have realized I was serious.  So, instead of becoming a Knight-Pilot now, I agreed to a deal:  Master Micah will help me focus on some of the skills in the Force we’d been neglecting because of my intent to fly mostly with the piloting corps, and I’ll just learn whatever the Council is willing to cram down my throat until I either go insane or they dangle my Knighthood in front of me again.  I mean, hell, I didn’t expect to get Knighted right now, anyway.  Even Quinlan didn’t get tagged until he was nineteen Standard.”

“What about me, then?” Obi-Wan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re just a freak,” Garen said, smiling.  “Not all of us can be eighteen-year-old Jedi Masters.”

He closed his eyes and repressed a shudder.  “Please don’t.  That’s the last thing I want to hear right now.”

“See?  You don’t want a promotion any more than I do,” Garen said, resting his elbows on his knees.  “I want my Knighting to be a happy occasion, not a side note after a pyre.”

Obi-Wan nodded.  Now _that_ was something he understood.  “Some Jedi Master,” he snorted, lifting his undershirt.  “I can’t even get dressed on my own right now.”

“Yeah, you were only shot in the back.  You should be able to dance already,” Garen teased, but his typical boisterous grin never surfaced.  “Let me help you.”

It wasn’t an easy thing to do, and if it hadn’t been for the solemnity of the occasion Obi-Wan would have ransacked his wardrobe for something with buttons that didn’t need to slide over his head.  Obi-Wan raised his arms, hissing when healing muscles and tendons protested the motion.  Garen slipped raw silk over his head, his fingers warm and gentle.  The rest was easier, far easier, but his hands were trembling with exertion before it was over.

Garen tugged at Obi-Wan’s belt, making sure it was secure.  “Looks odd, seeing you without a lightsaber.”

Micah had explained what had happened to his lightsaber, and he’d been too tired at the time to really care.  He almost didn’t care now.  “I’ll build another, when I can think straight.”

The teasing grin surfaced for a fleeting moment.  “I vote for a darker shade of blue.  Somewhere between cerulean and sapphire.”

He breathed out a laugh.  “I can’t believe it.  You’ve got a sense of romance, after all.”

“Yeah, but that’s about as romantic as it gets.”  Garen’s expression became solemn.  “Thank you,” he said.

Obi-Wan looked up at Garen in surprise.  “Thank me?  For what?”

Garen touched his face with both hands before leaning down to kiss him, slow and warm and so, so gentle that it made his breath hitch.  That done, Garen rested his forehead against his, and Garen’s hand was a steady, reassuring weight on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck.  “For saving my Master.  Thank you.  I don’t—I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan whispered.  And then, for reasons that he didn’t understand, he said, “I know what you would have done.”

Garen drew in a sharp breath.  “You…gods.  Don’t tell me—wait.  Tell me.  What did—what did I do?”

Obi-Wan thought about it, wondering if it was the right thing to do.  At last he decided it was; his friend needed to know of his own strength, that he carried more serenity than he gave himself credit for.  Obi-Wan pulled him close and spoke the words into Garen’s ear.  “You became a Jedi Knight.”

They walked together to the Memorial Gardens.  When Obi-Wan would have sent him on to help Micah, Garen had smiled and said that his Master had an escort for the night already, and there were going to be plenty of other chances to perform his new duties.

Obi-Wan made it as far as the long hallway before the memories caught up with him and he balked, planting his boots firmly on the stone.  He could see the torches ahead, brilliant flames beating back the night.  Even though he knew, _he knew_ that it was not the same, his body refused to believe him.

“Obi-Wan.”

He almost jumped at the sound of Qui-Gon’s voice, because it also didn’t match the memory that had halted him.  Then his partner’s warm hand settled onto his shoulder.  “Are you all right?”

That weight, those words, were more reassuring to his psyche than anything he’d been telling himself.  “I will be.  It’s just…so close.  So damned _close_.”  Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted to see anyone on a pyre.  Even knowing what to expect, lives had still been lost, and that realization made something deep within himself quaver.  If his experience, his words, were this ineffectual now, what the fuck was he going to do later?

“It _is_ different,” Qui-Gon insisted, his words a low murmur in deference to the Jedi walking past them, all of them making their way into the gardens.  “You made a difference.”

He looked up into Qui-Gon’s eyes, intense and flashing in the dim light.  He felt Qui-Gon’s conviction, his wish that Obi-Wan would believe him.  What struck him then was not a memory of the pyres he’d once witnessed in the aftermath of the Yinchorri Uprising, but an answer he’d been given just before going to seek his own death. 

_When we meet again…tell me again._

In that moment he knew that he could not.  He couldn’t honor his own words, or the words of the Qui-Gon who was.  The man who was learning about Obi-Wan now, the man Obi-Wan stood with, had no concept of seeing Obi-Wan as someone to be romantically interested in.  He could see it happening, one day.  Given time and patience, Obi-Wan was almost certain that Qui-Gon would notice his regard.

What Qui-Gon would do with it after—that, Obi-Wan didn’t know.  He had spent a long time putting the shattered pieces of his heart back together, and still the job wasn’t done.  One day he could survive that rejection, just not now. 

“Thank you,” he said instead.

“What for?” Qui-Gon asked, a tiny smile touching the corner of his lips.

“For saving my life,” Obi-Wan replied, not sure how to convey that it wasn’t just Yinchorr he was talking about.

Qui-Gon nodded, draping his arm across Obi-Wan’s shoulders.  Garen slipped his hand into Obi-Wan’s, squeezing with gentle fingers, and that was how they walked into the gardens. 

Obi-Wan found Adi standing with Mace and Saesee, and a frown touched his lips as he noticed the spectacular bruises that were coloring her jaw and throat.  _Jorek broke her jaw,_ Garen informed him.

 _Ah._   He hadn’t remembered that, but she was speaking without difficulty, so the Healers must have treated most of the damage already.  Or Adi herself had, as the Corellian Jedi Master had her own gift for healing.  

The crowd was thick, making it difficult to spot individuals, but when Obi-Wan noticed Tahl and Micah he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.  They were standing together, and anyone with half a brain could see that they were _in_ each other’s space, and not the least bit concerned about it. 

Qui-Gon didn’t move, but Obi-Wan could sense his amusement.  _I do believe that matter is settled at last._

 _You knew?_ Obi-Wan asked, surprised.

_I’ve known for years.  I’ve been a sounding board more than once for her to rant about Micah’s obliviousness._

_I’m glad for them,_ he said.

The last of those attending trickled into the gardens, among them Eve Koh and Thol Heeniir.  They saw Obi-Wan, Garen, and Qui-Gon, and quietly made their way over to join them. 

“And what brings you to Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asked in a soft voice, after Eve had given him a quick hug.

Thol gripped his hand for a moment.  “Well, for starters, making sure they put you and Master Giett back together properly,” he spoke in a low tone.  “As for the rest…”

“Jobs,” Eve added, quirking an eyebrow.  Before she could elaborate further, a hush fell over those assembled.  He turned his attention back to the pyres, and if his grip on Garen’s hand tightened, Garen had no complaints.

There were four pyres, not seven.  It hurt to see that once again, Knight Valan and Knight Ne-Tan were on the bier.  The next held Master Suon, a man he had met during the war and now never would.  The last was Dama Ro, and Obi-Wan sighed.  The gruff yet well-intentioned Master had fallen while protecting the _y’tineer_ , keeping a quarter of the _Sethserek’s_ complement at bay before succumbing. 

The torch bearers stepped forward, each fallen Jedi guarded by a friend or, in Suon’s case, a red-eyed, thin-lipped girl whose eyes never stopped leaking copper-tinted tears.

The torches moved as one, touching each pyre, and the flames caught and took hold, casting great shadows along the high garden walls as fire blazed skyward.  Without much thought, he sought the faces of those that had fallen before, in a time that had never happened:

Theen Fida, his crests wrapped by numerous new scars.  The Padawan stood by his Master’s side, ready to keep walking his path to Knighthood.

Lilit Twoseas, standing with K’Kruhk.  She had once died to save her Padawan’s life.  K’Kruhk had been a sober individual from that point forward. 

Jude Rozess, standing with, of all beings, Quinlan Vos.  The blonde-haired Knight had her arm linked in his. 

 _Well,_ Obi-Wan thought to himself. _That’s certainly…different._   He watched them for a moment, following threads of possibility, and was gladdened by what he found.  Quinlan’s path seemed much brighter than before, and Obi-Wan hoped that it stayed that way.

Naesh’ahn, observing the funerals with her Padawan, Ebor Taulk.  He’d known almost nothing about them when they’d died, and that thought brought a brief smile to his lips.  The pyres were bad, but Qui-Gon was right.  This was different.  He just wasn’t willing to believe that _he_ had made that difference.  Not yet.

Two years to go.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Five days later, Obi-Wan had to fight another case of déjà vu as he faced off against Mace Windu and said, “Absolutely _not._ ”

Mace gave him an annoyed glare.  “Look, we can’t exactly ignore the fact that you have the ability and skill of a Jedi Master!”

“Why not?” he retorted.  “You’ve been ignoring it for two years now, and I’ve been happy with that.  What blasted difference does it make, Master Windu?”  Further down the table, he heard Micah snicker and muffle the sound with his hand.  Qui-Gon was amused, as was Garen, though Qui-Gon was doing a far better job of hiding it.

Obi-Wan just wanted to bang his head on the table in frustration.  He’d thought that Mace had asked him and the others to meet to allow for discussions on the last remaining problem of the Yinchorri Uprising—namely, Vilmarh Grahrk.  Instead, he’d been ambushed by Mace with _this_.  The only thing that would have made it worse is if Yoda had gotten involved.

“First off, stop that,” Mace said, shaking his head.  “I’m the only one at this table that you’re calling by title, and it sounds stupid.  You know my name.  Use it.”

Obi-Wan had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling at that.  Smiling would have ruined his argument. 

“Second, I don’t understand your hesitation in this matter.  There are certain benefits to accepting the rank,” Mace added.

“I don’t give a damn about the benefits.  I’m happy as I am.  Also,” Obi-Wan continued, glaring.  “I don’t want to push something that may frighten or concern others.  A Jedi Master my age?  Being Knighted young is one thing, Mace, but an eighteen-year-old Jedi Master, no matter the species, is unilaterally unheard of.”

Mace released a frustrated sigh.  “Anyone who is paying the slightest attention would know without a doubt that a Jedi Master is what you are, Obi-Wan.”

He hesitated before nodding.  “That’s true.  But Mace, not everyone is paying attention.”

Obi-Wan knew that Mace had conceded when the man grinned at him.  “You win.  I’ll let the matter drop, though it’ll be hard to avoid the title if you take a Padawan in the immediate future.”  Obi-Wan shrugged, unconcerned. 

“Damn,” Mace continued, shaking his head.  “I’ll say it again, and it’s more of a compliment this time.  You have taken many of your Master’s quirks and raised them to an art form.”

He grinned.  “Thank you,” he said, glancing at Qui-Gon.  His partner gave him an inscrutable look, but the tell-tale lines at the corners of Qui-Gon’s eyes told Obi-Wan all he needed to know.

Then Mace spoke again, and Obi-Wan considered the benefits of strangling Council members.  “I’d sure love to know who voted for your appointment to the Council.”

He closed his eyes as he heard Qui-Gon’s surprised, “Excuse me?”

Micah laughed, and Mace seemed far too smug for Obi-Wan’s liking.  “You hadn’t told him yet?” Micah asked, grinning.

Obi-Wan shook his head, burying his face in his hands.  He’d forgotten that Mace Windu fought dirty. 

Qui-Gon was quiet for a long moment before he began to chuckle.  “I have to admit, that’s a pretty good Idiot’s Array,” he said.  “That must have been entertaining.”

“The fuck it was,” Obi-Wan snorted, looking at Qui-Gon.  “I hated that damn job,” he said.  “I didn’t even _want_ the job in the first place, but he,” he held up his hand and pointed a finger at Mace, scowling at the senior Master, “bribed me.”

Mace crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, smiling.  “Couldn’t talk you back into it, then?”

“Fuck you.”  Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose, disconcerted.  This was trodding far too close to things he didn’t want to talk about.

“See?  That’s what he said to me when I asked him!” Micah crowed.

“So where’d you sit?” Garen asked, grinning.  “I bet they stashed you as close to the door as they could get you.”

He could see the circle of chairs easily enough, the memory of his last Council meeting clear and resonant because of its subject matter.  He tapped his finger on the table in time with each name, arcing around that part of the circle.  “Eeth Koth’s successor.  Me.  Ki-Adi Mundi.”

“Damn,” Micah breathed.  “That’s disturbing. I just _gave_ him that chair.”

Obi-Wan nodded and continued the count.  “Master Yoda.  Mace.  Plo Koon.”

The silence in the room loomed over him, and made him wish he’d never opened his mouth.  “ _Sith.  Hells._ ”  Qui-Gon was staring at him, his eyes wide.  “You’re Old Guard.”

“Wait.  You’re talking about _the_ Old Guard, right?” Garen asked, glancing at his Master for confirmation.  Micah nodded, his expression still echoing his surprise.  “Oh,” said Garen, looking at Obi-Wan with stunned eyes.  “Holy _crap_.”

“Can we discuss something else, please?” Obi-Wan said, trying to ignore the fact that he was being stared at.  He hated, hated, _hated_ being stared at.  “This is just—this is venturing too far into things that I can’t talk about.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Qui-Gon asked, a touch of ire in his voice.  His Master was not Old Guard.  The ideologies were far too different, and traditional members of the Old Guard looked down at Qui-Gon’s strength in the Living Force, believing that the Unifying Force was the true path of the Jedi.  The whole thing was ridiculous.  It wasn’t like Obi-Wan had been asked to be Old Guard, anyway.  It had just stuck.  Like that blasted nickname.

Either way, between the events of Yinchorr, the pyres, the psychic overextension, and the conversation he was trapped in now, his frayed, abused temper snapped.  “Dammit, Qui-Gon, I _can’t_!”  He gritted his teeth, keeping himself from shouting by the barest margin.  “Think about it!  What if things change, and change, and keep bloody changing?  What if Asajj Ventress were to become a Padawan in the Temple?  What if, by telling you and Mace and Micah that story, none of you will ever see her as anything but the danger that she _could_ be, instead of what she _is_.” 

Obi-Wan scrubbed at his eyes with his hand.  “What if,” his voice fell to a whisper, “What if I’ve already ruined her life?  Think about that, please!  I could destroy _everything_ with the wrong fucking word!”

The rap of knuckles sounded against the open doorframe, halting any reply that might have been forthcoming.  Obi-Wan turned his head to see Adi Gallia standing in the doorway, holding a stack of files and a datapad.  She gave him a concerned look.  “Am I…interrupting anything?” she asked, before looking around at the others.

“Yes, you are, and bless you for it,” Obi-Wan said, and she smiled and walked into the room.

“You could cut the tension in this room with a lightsaber,” she commented, setting the folders down on the table.  “You lot might want to do something about that before the others arrive.”  Obi-Wan felt a moment of intense relief, glad to find out that at last, they could get to the blasted point. 

 _We’re not done here,_ Qui-Gon said, pinning him with a stern look.  _We’re going to finish talking about this later._

 _No, we’re not,_ Obi-Wan retorted, glancing down at the Judicial report when Adi handed him a copy.  When there was no reply forthcoming, he looked back up to find Qui-Gon smiling at him.  _What?_ he asked, disgruntled.

 _I have missed our arguments,_ Qui-Gon said, humor in his mental voice.

His control slipped, and he almost blushed in the face of his partner’s warm regard.  _Me too_ , he said, and decided to shut up and leave it at that.

Eeth Koth joined them, as did Saesee Tiin.  From the irritated glare in the Iktotchi Master’s eyes, Obi-Wan decided that at least one of them had just escaped the clutches of the Senate.  The Masters settled into place, and he listened as they began to speak, detailing the clean-up efforts that came along with finalizing the Accord he’d created. 

“Vilmarh Grahrk is still at large,” Eeth said, motioning at the Judicial report.  “His second-in-command, alias Jones, real name unknown, is missing as well.  If they’ve abandoned Republic space, it’s not likely that they’ll ever be brought to justice for creating this mess.”

“Olmar Grahrk was happy to testify against his cousin after Vilmarh abandoned him to the Yinchorri,” Adi said, and then shook her head.  “He was lucky the Yinchorri didn’t tear him to bits.  His wives saved his life.  He’s on probation, but has asked for permission to return to Yinchorr for the sake of Vooma, Fewn, and Jenk.  He’ll likely get it; between myself, Saesee Tiin, and Judicial, we’ve determined that Olmar was little more than a pawn.”

“And that leads me to my primary concern,” Saesee spoke, troubled.  “In terms of tactics, the Yinchorri Council of Elders and the High Command performed brilliantly.  Why, then, would they have committed the suicidal action of attacking the Temple?  They understood what they were facing, and proved it with the way they progressed through the local systems.  The Yinchorri had to have known that it would put us in the position to call in more resources against them.”

“They did come in with enough explosives to take out half of the Temple,” Micah pointed out.  “Perhaps they were simply overconfident?”

“Maybe,” Mace allowed, but he didn’t look convinced.  “Sothek said something about other allies, but as Jorek immolated Sothek in his own quarters, along with his records, we have no way of verifying any of it.”

Other allies.  For a moment Obi-Wan flashed on the memory of the last Chancellor of the Republic, and just as quickly the memory broke apart.  He frowned, shaking his head.  “If there were other parties to the Uprising, I don’t know about them.  Vilmarh mentioned nothing, and neither did Jorek or Sothek before the signing of the Accord.”

“We’ll keep an eye out, then,” Eeth said, nodding.  “They will be under close watch as the Yinchorri Security Detail is put together.  If these allies try to re-establish themselves with the current Council of Elders, we’re bound to hear about it.”

The others signaled their agreement, and Obi-Wan watched, wondering why he felt so damned discomforted by the entire thing.

 

*    *    *    *

 

“I have a gift for you,” Kimal Daarc said, smiling at Obi-Wan when he entered the lab. 

Obi-Wan smiled back, breathing in the atmosphere of the crystal lab, letting it soothe his senses.  He loved this room.  He would have _slept_ in this room if he could have gotten away with it.  “Hello, Kimal,” he said.  “I thought Master Callero would be here today.”

Kimal waved a hand.  “He was, but since we have become shared Masters of this lab, he spends less and less time here.  I don’t understand why the man didn’t just retire and leave this all to me,” he said, and there was no mistaking the Arconan Jedi Master’s possessiveness towards the room’s contents.   Most of the crystals in the room had arrived due to his singular efforts.

“I’m not sure why he didn’t retire, either,” Obi-Wan said honestly, for once upon a time, Master Callero had done just that.  “But you mentioned something about a gift?” he asked, curious.

Kimal looked far too delighted with himself.  “I did, I did.  Our Master let me know that once you had healed from your injuries, you would be building a new lightsaber.  I have to admit, I’ve been keeping an eye to my crystals with you in mind for some time.  The circumstances that brought you here are unfortunate, but I think you will like what I’ve procured.”

Something in his stomach twisted.  “They’re not Virrax, are they?”

The man who had been Qui-Gon Jinn’s first Padawan blinked his luminous green eyes, nonplussed.  “Certainly not!  Unless you would prefer them,” Kimal said, hesitating.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, smiling in relief.  “All right.  Show me what you’ve got.”

Obi-Wan followed Kimal to a distant corner of the lab, far from most of the storage cabinets.  Kimal put his palm on a locked drawer, waiting as the scanner read his biometric data before the lock released with a pneumatic hiss.  Inside the drawer were only a few boxes, all of them lined and shock-proof, perfect for transporting the sensitive crystals. 

Kimal selected a box from the rear of the drawer, holding it out to him, and there was no mistaking the conviction in his voice when Kimal spoke.  “These belong to you, or I’m going to eat my robe, retire, and leave Callero to fend for himself.”

Obi-Wan took the box, entranced by the thrum of greeting he could feel.  When he opened it, his mouth fell open.

“Kimal.”

“Yes, brother Padawan of mine?” Kimal answered innocently.

Obi-Wan stared at the three tiny crystals nestled in the cushioning foam.  They were a deep, dark blue, smooth as glass—cut, polished, and ready to be used.  The thrumming was in his bones, now, and in the Force the resonance of the crystals within his own aura was _astonishing_.  “These are Adegans.”

“Indeed they are,” Kimal replied.

He touched one of the crystals, stunned.  He had memories of Kimal Daarc giving him a set of Adegan crystals during the war.  Those had been excellent crystals, but they had been rough new discoveries that he had spent patient hours cutting to the right shape.  The ones he held now were ancient, so unfathomably old that he couldn’t even begin to guess at their age. 

“Gods, Kimal.  Where did these come from?”

“Last year, I traveled to Ossus when an archaeological team discovered a few texts on lightsabers buried in the remains of the old library.  They thought I should have a look, so I went.  The texts had been stored in a container that was meant to be airtight, definitely Archivist quality, so it was easy to ascertain that the texts were considered old even before the Cataclysm.”  Kimal leaned forward, touching one of the crystals, and there was awe in his voice when he continued.  “Buried underneath the dust and fragments of paper was the remains of a lightsaber.  We took the usual scans and holos, but it was so, so corroded.  So old, that time traveler!  When we went to remove it from the case, it disintegrated, leaving only these three crystals behind.”

“Force,” Obi-Wan whispered.  “These need to be in the Archives, not in my lightsaber.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kimal retorted.  “They’re lightsaber crystals, and they’re calling forth, demanding to be used.  Can’t you feel it?”

Obi-Wan nodded, because he _could_ feel it, and it was scaring the hell out of him.  “Then why give them to me?  I think I rank rather low on the list of deserving recipients.”

Kimal rolled his eyes, an interesting sight on an Arconan.  “The Force wills it so, Obi-Wan.  The stones call to you, and I know that you sense this.  There are none in the Temple who are so well-matched to these crystals.  You are like our ancestors, my friend.  You understand the Force as they did.  The blade that you create from these crystals will be a masterpiece.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and gave in, nodding his agreement.  The very first thing he did was settle into Kimal and Callero’s shared office, meditating with the crystals held in his hands.  If he was going to do this, he was damned well going to do it right. 

A vast sense of peace washed over him, far unlike his first experience with the Virrax, and he relaxed into it.  The embrace of the Force was familiar, and he whispered into the air as he found a fragment of ancient, lost memory:  “Odan-Urr.”

The embrace answered him, an echo of a spirit who had left part of himself behind in the library that he had loved. _Many lightsabers did I have, child, for my life was long.  Hold strong.  Hold fast.  Let the peace of the Force guide you.  Evil is loose in the galaxy once more—you know this.  Once, I could not stand against it, for my time had come._

_Stand against it with all of the strength of both of your lives, and do not falter._

Still submerged deep into that meditative state, he got up and started looking for parts, feeling Kimal’s tickling, curious probe as he passed by.  It made him sad to know that Kimal, for all of his deft touch with the Force, would likely never experience what was happening to Obi-Wan at that moment—not until he’d touched and passed through the gray place.

He worked until he couldn’t see, his eyes aching and exhausted, but he didn’t need them to know what he was doing.  He could feel it, sense it, as the lightsaber slowly came together under his hands.  The stones might have been thousands of years old, but the casing he built maintained the modern lines he was familiar with.  The variation was on the grip, a pattern of black on silver against black.  It was ornate, something he typically would never have bothered with, being long-used to a more utilitarian style.

Obi-Wan wound up sleeping in the lab after all, waking up at one point to mumble thanks at whoever threw his cloak back over his shoulders to ward off the chill.  His dreams were vivid things, surrounding him with people of an age that history had trouble remembering.   

At one point, he found himself standing next to a brown-haired man in a bright blue tunic.  He was wearing leather and bits of archaic plate armor, with a lightsaber strapped into place on his thigh.  The man had an amused expression on his pale face, and his blue eyes, a match to the shirt, were full of warmth that had been tempered by tragedy. 

 _You’re close,_ the man whispered.

_Close to what, Ulic?_

The Jedi Master smiled.  _You’ll find out._

_Fucking riddles!  It’s always riddles with you, isn’t it?_

_I was raised on riddles, Obi-Wan. It’s what I got for choosing an Arkanian man as my Master._

Close to dawn, Obi-Wan woke up with his right hand gripping the finished lightsaber, and the memory of all that he had dreamed crumbled.  “Dammit,” he grumbled, wiping sleep crud from his eyes. 

A mug of steaming tea appeared before his eyes, pushed into place by a familiar hand.  “Drink it.  Try not to drown in it,” Qui-Gon instructed. 

Obi-Wan picked it up with his left hand, not yet willing to let go of his lightsaber.  The crystals were still humming, and he wondered if they were going to stop any time soon.  At this rate, he was going to have a very talkative lightsaber.  Then again, Adegan crystals tended to be noisier than most. 

The tea burned his lips but he ignored it, for his body had just realized he’d spent at least twenty hours without food, and half of the mug’s contents went away.  He put the mug down, slid it aside, and rested his head on the table.  The bottom was going to fall out of his stomach, the top of his head was going to come off, or he was going to throw up.  Maybe all three. 

“What time is it?” Obi-Wan asked, and his voice was a cracked mess.

“Fifth hour.  I’ve been here since midnight, after Kimal comm’d to let me know that you had passed out the moment you finished what you were doing.  What _were_ you doing, by the way?”

In answer, Obi-Wan put the lightsaber on the table in front of them without lifting his head.  “I feel hungover,” he mumbled into the table.

Qui-Gon’s hand, warm and wonderful and solid, settled onto his back.  A tingle of energy trailed out from the points of his fingers, spreading through Obi-Wan’s body in slow ripples.  “You’re supposed to ease your way back into things, not jump off a cliff,” he said gently.

“Bah,” said Obi-Wan. 

When the rest of the tea was gone, plus three ration bars, he felt clear-headed enough to ignite the blade.  He stood in place, legs set and braced, and thumbed the activation switch.  The blade emerged, not the pale blue he’d known for most of his life, but a brilliant sapphire that warmed his heart to see.    

“That’s very well done,” Qui-Gon commented, raising an eyebrow.  “But I can feel my teeth vibrating from here.”

“It is different, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan murmured, passing the blade through the air and delighted by the feel.  No, the hell with delight—wielding this blade filled him with intense joy.  He grinned, made sure nothing was close enough to be damaged, and performed an abbreviated version of the sixth _vapaad_ kata.  The lightsaber sang in his hand.

When he regretfully shut the blade down, Kimal had returned, and was staring at Obi-Wan with something far too close to reverence.  “Now do you understand why I gifted those crystals to you, and not to another?”

Obi-Wan bowed to the Arconan Master.  “Thank you,” he said, and meant it with all of his heart.

 

*    *    *    *

 

It was dusk, but he left the lights off when he entered the room.  The last remnants of daylight made the great silver columns seem to glow.  The sound of his boots hitting tile resonated throughout the vast space.  He walked around the empty Council chamber, and could feel it echoing with more than just his footsteps.  There were memories in this place, far too many, and they crowded Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

_A great debt, this Council owes you._

_Take the fourth division of the army to Rattatak space.  We know there’s another armada of the droid army lurking in Ventress’s back yard.  Intel says that Durge has command._

_Anakin Skywalker, this Council declares you a Knight of the Order.  May you always walk in the Light._

_Probation, that’s the best we can do, and that’s more than fair._

_The two of you did very well._

_They’re not successes if people died!_

He ghosted his hand across the back of Depa Billaba’s chair, his eyes burning, and felt the echo of aching bones and drooping shoulders, bent under the weight of everything they had been forced to carry.

“Obi-Wan?”

He turned at the sound, and found his partner standing in the doorway.  The light from the antechamber spilled in around him, turning his long hair into strands of liquid bronze. 

“Are you all right?” Qui-Gon asked.

He nodded, content to let the ghosts go, for now.  Qui-Gon Jinn was far better company.

“Ready to go to Versai?”

Obi-Wan made a face as he walked forward, meeting Qui-Gon at the door.  Versai was going to wind up being his least favorite assignment, no matter how peaceful the negotiations turned out.  Versai was fucking _cold._   He considered the planet on a par with Hoth, just with less wampas.  “No.”

Qui-Gon nodded, rueful.  “Neither am I.”  He looked into the Council chamber, his eyes tracking the twelve chairs, bare silhouettes now in the fading light.  “A Padawan of mine on the Council,” he murmured.  “Did you make me proud, Obi-Wan?”

He smiled.  “I did my best to drive them crazy, Master.”

“Good,” Qui-Gon said, his unconcerned tone a sharp contrast to the broad grin on his face.  “Shall we go?”

“Absolutely.”

 

Epilogue:

 

“I don’t get it,” Anakin said, squirming as he tried to keep track of Obi-Wan’s progress.  Obi-Wan smiled, deftly tucking the small boy’s tunics into proper alignment.  If there was one thing that Anakin was not fond of, it was the formal Initiate whites.  When Obi-Wan had suggested that he didn’t have to wear them, not for this event, Anakin had shaken his head and said that he wasn’t going to attend as anything other than what he was.  He tied the _obi_ into place, then tugged again when Anakin shifted and turned the entire thing crooked. 

“Hmm.”  Obi-Wan handed Anakin his simple leather belt, watching as he buckled it with practiced hands.  “What don’t you get, Ani?”

“This pairbond thing you have with Master Qui-Gon,” Anakin said, wandering over to put on the last of his things—his lightsaber and his boots. 

“Ah,” said Obi-Wan, and wondered what, exactly, Anakin had been hearing in the creche.  “What have you learned about bonds in your classes?”

Anakin pulled a pair of used socks out of his boots, tossed them, and started shoving his right foot into his boot, his lips pursed in concentration.  “Just the stuff on training bonds and how they work.  I guess they think that’s all we care about, and no one really talks about anything else.  But I know there’s more,” he said.  “There’s Lifebonds and stuff, right?”

“Correct,” Obi-Wan said, stepping over to a mirror long enough to straighten his own tunics.  Part of it was necessity, and part of it was because helping Anakin dress had triggered memories that he loved, and his eyes were not quite dry. 

His clothes done, he tucked his misbehaving hair back behind his ears.  If it hadn’t been for Abella, Garen, and Bant protesting the notion, he would have chopped his hair back off.  Growing it out was a pain in the ass.  “I take it you would like to hear about the other bonds common among the Jedi.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, jumping around with both boots on to settle his feet into place.  Obi-Wan smiled at the sight reflected in the mirror.  Some days Anakin seemed more like the age he was now, and less like the Jedi Knight he’d once trained, and Obi-Wan was glad for that. 

“Well, training bonds are used most commonly among Masters and Padawans, though they can also be used between Masters and Knights when the latter needs to learn a new skill, or re-learn old skills,” Obi-Wan explained, thinking of Yoda.  “They’re solid things, especially when the Force encourages their creation.  Some training bonds are cut, or removed, when a Padawan is Knighted, but not all training bonds are dismissed.  Some of us keep them our entire lives.”

Obi-Wan turned back to Anakin, who was busy tucking his leggings into his boots.  They had a training bond already; Anakin was largely unaware of it, so it was dormant, but soon enough…  “Lifebonds are bonds created between those who wish to share themselves with their partner, or partners, for the rest of their lives.  Once formed, they’re permanent, though unlike some ballads I can mention, the death of one half of a Lifebonded couple does _not_ ensure the death of the other.  It’s a matter of choice, just like most things in life.

“A pairbond,” he said, once Anakin had finished fighting with his clothes and turned his full attention back to Obi-Wan, “is more than a training bond, less than a Lifebond.  They’re created by Jedi who work in pairs over long periods, though temporary pairbonds are common if the partnership is only meant for the duration of one mission.  The primary function of a pairbond is communication, which is a vital thing during delicate missions or hostile situations.  The bond also functions as a locator, much like a training bond, so that a separated pair can find each other again.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, digesting that information.  “So it doesn’t have anything to do with sex, then.”

Obi-Wan choked, coughed, and wondered who’d come up with _that_.  “Not hardly.  It’s a working bond.  While there can be…exceptions, it’s nothing you need to learn about right now.”

“Well, why not?” Anakin replied, indignant.  “I’m seven years old!  I’ll be eight soon!”

Obi-Wan turned back to him, grinned, and swept him off the floor.  “Oh, so he's almost eight years old!” Anakin giggled, kicking and trying to squirm his way out of Obi-Wan's hold.  “That means he's ready for _all_ of the mysteries of life!  Including...”

“No!” Anakin gasped out.  “If you tickle me, you'll have to fix my clothes again!”

Obi-Wan paused, still holding Anakin up in the air, before sighing in regret.  “You're right.  And I don’t think our parents will be pleased if we’re late.”  He set Anakin back down on the floor, taking a moment to adjust tunics and tabards that had been mussed.  “Are you ready for this?”

Anakin grinned.  “My Mom is _getting married_.  Of course I’m ready for this!” he enthused, almost vibrating in place.

“Your mother is marrying my father,” Obi-Wan replied, raising an eyebrow.  “It’s _weird_.”

“You’ve said that since they got engaged,” Anakin said, grabbing his hand.  “Come on.  We’re supposed to be standing there being dignified and stuff before this starts.”

They met Owen outside in the hallway when the boy skidded to a halt in front of them.  “ _There_ you are!” he yelped.  “We’regoingtobelateandIcan’tfindtherings!”

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan said, resting his hands on Owen’s shoulders and looking down into his little brother’s pale blue eyes.  “They’re not going to start the ceremony without us, and we still have time.”

Owen obeyed, taking at least two deep lungfuls of air before he was off again.  “Istillcan’tfindtheringsandI’mthe _ring bearer_ ,” he said, his eyes wide.  “If we don’t find the rings, Dad can’t get married and they have to get married so I’ll have a Mom, too!”

Anakin opened his mouth, closed it, and looked up at Obi-Wan.  “You win.  It _is_ weird.”

Obi-Wan laughed.  “Come on, then.  Let’s go find those rings.”

The rings were procured (the box lost beneath a pile of yesterday’s laundry), and the three of them were standing in their assigned places before anyone had the chance to realize there had been a problem. 

The old temple on Kaazcint was small and run-down, but the people who’d crowded onto the bleachers to view their new neighbors’ wedding were good-hearted, ready to welcome Shmi, Cliegg, and Owen to the southern lands.  It had been Shmi who’d convinced Cliegg not to claim the family-owned homestead on Tatooine—not that she’d needed to try very hard.  Obi-Wan’s father, already head-over-heels in love with Anakin’s mother, heard Shmi say, “I don’t want to go back,” and that was the end of it.

Obi-Wan had spent a month researching Outer Rim planets and real estate, trying to find something that his father could afford.  When the foreclosed, abandoned farm on Kaazcint had turned up, he’d known it was the right place without even seeing a holo.  His father had agreed.  Then Obi-Wan had drained his childhood savings dry, paying the local bribes to make sure that the deal closed.  Cliegg Lars had been happy to say goodbye to the government-owned farm on Ator, one of many meant to feed the masses of the ecumenopolis.

He sought out Qui-Gon in the packed audience.  His partner being there was fantastic, and it was something that he hadn’t even needed to ask for.  Shmi had insisted.   

 _The three of you will make good brothers,_ Qui-Gon said, and there was an amused smile on his lips.  _You all look_ nothing _alike._

 _You have interesting qualifications for family, Qui,_ Obi-Wan replied, smiling as his father made his way across the dais, led by the local priest.  Cliegg was clean-shaven, wearing new long tunics and overcoat.  He spared the crowd a bemused glance before taking up position to the left of the dais’ center podium.

 _I’m an only child who was orphaned at birth,_ Qui-Gon said.  _I’m just not that picky._

The smile on his face died.  _I’m sorry,_ Obi-Wan said, saddened.  In the past, Qui-Gon had never been willing to discuss the matter.  At least now he understood why.  _I didn’t know._

_It was a long time ago, Obi-Wan, and I had family among the Jedi, with Tahl and Micah and so many others, before I even knew I had a reason to grieve.  Don’t let my history spoil this day._

Shmi appeared on the opposite side of the dais, standing alone.  Two years away from Tatooine had done much for her; her skin glowed with health, and her eyes were bright and free of the worry and fear she had lived with for most of her life.  She had taken up Kaazcint’s traditional marriage colors, and was wearing a dress the color of an autumn sky, a beautiful contrast to her dark eyes and hair.

“Wow,” said Anakin, staring at his mother in astonishment.

Shmi grinned at the four of them, approaching the center of the dais where Cliegg and the priest were waiting.  The priest, an older man with an unruly shock of gray hair, dusky skin, and calm brown eyes, smiled in welcome and bid Shmi and Cliegg to join hands.

The ceremony itself was brief, the vows to the point: stark and honest pledges that Cliegg and Shmi would uphold for their entire lives.  The priest stopped towards the end, glancing out over the crowd.  “I daresay anyone would be foolish to intercede in this union when the bond is true, but if you have reason to protest, now is the time.”

No one said a word against them, though one of Owen’s new friends, a Kaleesh boy about three years Standard, shouted, “Hurry up so we can have cake!”

“Shush up, Yan!” Owen yelled back.  “This is important!”

The priest nodded, his voice solemn.  “Indeed it is.  And as the Force is, no doubt, with us today,” he said, with a pointed glance at Obi-Wan and Anakin, prominent in their Jedi tunics.  “I now pronounce you husband and wife, bonded in matrimony and the Force, for all time.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

Obi-Wan, Anakin, Qui-Gon, and Owen spent several days finalizing preparations for the newly restructured Lars family to move into the farm full-time.  It was a lot of work, and Obi-Wan was happy to do it.  When Shmi and Cliegg returned from their short honeymoon, their home would be ready. 

The last evening before his father and step-mother were due to return, Qui-Gon found him sitting out on the low stone wall, listening to the insects compete for dominance of the night.  “Anakin and Owen are out like lights,” Qui-Gon said, sitting down on the wall next to him.  “I do believe your brother fell asleep mid-protest.”

“Seven-year-olds do that, if given the opportunity,” Obi-Wan said.  He was holding his lightsaber in his hands, running his fingers along the patterned hilt.  It had been quiet in the eight months since the Yinchorri Uprising, but the usual little tiffs had cropped up here and there. 

He’d gone into battle with the sapphire blade, feeling like a different person.

Qui-Gon was quiet for a time.  The insects droned on, filling the silence.  “Is something bothering you, Obi-Wan?  You’ve been sitting out here every night for several hours.”

“I like it here,” he said.  Truth, but not the whole truth.

“As do I,” Qui-Gon agreed.  “But I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re sitting here.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, knowing he was being paranoid, but paranoia had saved his life far too many times for him to discount the feeling.  “I didn’t want to say anything, in case it was a fluke.”

“But?”

“Do you remember the scheduling game that Shmi and my father had to play to make sure that we could attend their wedding?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Hard to forget, all things considered,” Qui-Gon answered.  “We needed to match it up to a time when we were off the mission rotation, which coincided with…with…”  He trailed off, and when Obi-Wan looked over it was to find Qui-Gon staring at him.  “Nothing?  Nothing at all?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, unaccountably nervous.  “The cycle didn’t happen.  It’s the sixth day, and there’s been nothing.  No nightmares.”

“Force,” Qui-Gon whispered.  “But there was the other—the cycle after Yveen.”

“A third shorter than it should have been,” Obi-Wan countered, swallowing.  “It must have been from that mess on Yinchorr, because I can’t think of any other reason for the cycle to change.”  He let loose a watery chuckle.  “Is it wrong that I don’t know how to view this positively?  I keep waiting for something horrible to happen.”

“Then we’ll keep watch, and wait to see what time brings.  This may turn out to be a good thing,” Qui-Gon said.  “I’ll do my best to hope for the best for both of us.”

That made him smile.  “Thank you.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“Mmm?”

“You once said to me that I was not one to look the obvious in the face and not see it,” Qui-Gon said, his tone rueful.  “I think you were giving me far too much credit.”

Obi-Wan managed to hold onto his laughter for a full ten seconds before it slipped free.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] The Yinchorri Uprising by Flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047041) by [rippleeffect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippleeffect/pseuds/rippleeffect)




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